Dancing On Glass and Other Stories
by Kariko Emma
Summary: Cou one-shots. From Caliko to you, with love.
1. Another Mischief

**_Dancing On Glass and Other Stories_**

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**Author's Note:** I had begun these shortly after finishing my fic/novella _Coushander_, and then they were set aside for a long time and untouched. I feel like now is the right time to post them. There are ten in total. The one-shots are extra fluff about the couples inside Cou. Most of them are brief, except for Cou and Matty's. They are each snap-shots in various frames of time.

1. Takeshi/Sayoe (Coushander and Saru-Shin's parents…aka, Sakumo's grandfather.)  
2. Kano/Rion (…Unrequited love…)  
3. Takato/Yukie (General Mishaps from a Shy Man to a Pretty Girl)  
4. Dalzen/Chinatsu (No explanation required.)  
5. Akeno/Sanada (Because it's a sea story, dammit. Akeno was featured in 'Victory'.)  
6. Keiko/Teal (Young, crazy love.)  
7. Coushander & Matsuko (THE BIRTH OF SAKUMO. YESH.)  
8. Rinsano/Nora (Two lonely people. YESH.)  
9. Kosaka/Misao (Because Kosaka was just as weird as Cou. Let's face it.)  
10. Harou/Arisu (Because I love Harou, okay?)

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**Disclaimer: **Basically everyone aforementioned are my OCs and belong to me. Yet alas, Sakumo, Jiraiya, and all canon characters in Naruto are not mine. Thank you fanfiction dot net.

**Genre:** Romance/Humor, Odd one-shots. Nothing mature.

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1. Another Mischief

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She held her son's small hand as they walked home that afternoon, cooling slightly with the clouds and trees of generous shade. Paired with maple, oak, and pine, young poplar boughs swayed downward on both sides of the lane, their leaves clapping gently like a distant audience of a theater somewhere in some romantic, large city like Tanzaku. A dream, for her, existing only as such deep in the night. They had just come from Midori town, the market, and were walking home. She noticed her young son's eyes watching for birds, squirrels, and any other critters climbing the jungle of limbs. Her eyes focused on the old path. She wasn't feeling well at all.

She had given birth a few short days ago. Another son. Another mischief. Another Takeshi. Another Hatake. And she smiled lightly, thinking of that man, her husband. She looked down at her boy holding her hand, "Thank you for carrying that bag," she said. The boy, five years old with her own almond black-brown eyes, looked up and offered a quick, warm smile. He seemed to sense her distress. He was very sensitive toward her and toward nature in general. In many ways, he was a much like her…except a handful, just like his father. The young boy could even drive his own father crazy from time to time. "Would you mind putting it all away when we get home?" she asked him.

He shook his head. No, he didn't mind. Glad he said nothing, the momentary silence offered her some peace. She had been awfully tired of the past week, and more so now. Oh, the silence, she reveled. She would take a long rest before supper.

The little signpost came into view at last, hidden among the poplar and pines—their turn off was near. Gladder still, she soon stopped and the familiar swirl of turmoil clenched her stomach and her nerves—as they had approached the narrow path through the trees she gasped as she saw an old white mattress and an under support lying in the grass, tossed vicariously against the trunk of an old and weary maple. They stopped and stared at this strange sight and her hand released slowly form her five year old; "Good God!" She felt faint—blank thoughts racing in her mind until one prevailed above the rest, "Oh no…No….No! What's gone on! What's he done!" Fearfully, she raced down the path—her son followed the steady jog. On either side of the fences, their fields still stood as normal. Their house in the distance, normal, yet she ran for it.

As they stepped onto the old wooden porch, they were greeted with silence. Sayoe's thoughts reached a fever; what else was missing, who was at home, why such quiet…Her _baby!_ Her _new_ baby…! Without waiting for her other child, she raced inside, looking, listening—her heart throbbing painfully as she looked—"Takeshi…?" she uttered at first meekly. "Takeshi!" She panicked, _"Takeshi!"_

"Dearest, what's the matter?" said a lazy-sounding voice from the small dining room. He had a head covered by a borrowed grey newspaper as she entered in further, her black eyes wide and circular—"Takeshi, were we robbed? What's happened? What's going on! Oh my poor child! _Where_ is Coushander! Is he safe?!"

"…What…?" his thin lips grinned.

"TAKESHI!" she stammered, "What's going _on!_ What have you _done!_ Where is my _baby!"_

"Sleeping! In his crib!" he answered her exclamations simply.

She stood there for a moment, her sore little body suddenly quivering, ready to spring to the boys' room in a rush of madness but her strength had faded. Her oldest son, knowing now there was no danger, or at least very little, put away the groceries silently, eagerly listening to the wild scene. And then at last, she began to cry. And she cried heavily, burying her face in her palms, her frame convulsing slightly and shaking. Takeshi glanced at his son in the kitchen with a peculiar air and he came over to his wife, put his arms around her, and held her gently. Sayoe cried harder before the spell finally lessened and dissipated into the queer silence it shattered.

"…What happened?" the five year old heard her ask tentatively as Takeshi still held her on to her slender frame.

"…I bought you something," he grinned readily. His blue-grey eyes sparkled a bit in the way his eldest son's did when getting into all kinds of trouble. The newborn had Takeshi's eyes, as well as his looks. But both brothers shared peculiar silver hair—Ryouma's a little more white in tone; that trait had been straight from Takeshi's grandfather. Ryouma had even won little red stripes on either side of his eyes.

Sayoe's thin black brow raised in another dose of frightful shock. And rightfully so. "…What?"

Takeshi winked at his older boy—Ryouma began to smile.

Meanwhile his wife was at a loss for words, but Takeshi supplied suavely, "I'm so sorry to scare you my dear—it was not my intention to do so. I wanted to buy it _before_ you had the baby, but I needed more time to save up the money…"

"—Hatake Takeshi—" she stammered, "You…you didn't buy…!"

"Oh but I did," he continued to grin his inimitable silly grin.

Again, for a moment, she was utterly speechless—"But! Oh Takeshi, you _didn't!"_

"Take a rest my dear. I want you to sleep easy from now on."

"…Crazy fool!" she called him and wanted to pull away but he wouldn't let her while she continued to rail, "How could you _afford_ such a thing! Takeshi you shouldn't have, not for me, oh _Takeshi_!"

"Relax sweetheart! It's all paid for. I don't owe them a single acorn, I promise."

She made a noise and rolled her eyes as he tried to lead her to their bedroom. "But, _how!"_

"Come, come and see."

Again, she held her ground, "Not until you tell me _how_…"

"I didn't sell the farm exactly. I didn't sell our boys. See? We still have the old clock in the kitchen. I just sold everything else," he teased. But her pale white face was still very pale. "Relax," he said to her willowy form. "I've wanted to give you this for a while," he said quietly, "And it just took me longer than expected. Come and see our new bedroom. I even put our old sheets on it." He tugged her forward and she reluctantly followed him. Takeshi did the honor of pushing the door open for her to see a clean white mattress, covered by the same old blue flowered sheets.

Ryouma looked on too, having done his duty under such wicked intrigue. He wanted to burst out, "It's so tall and big!" but he kept quiet, smiling in the same proud manner as his father.

Takeshi held her firmly by the shoulders so she would not faint without his strong hands to hold her up. "So do you like it? You should lay on it. Then you can see how you like it."

The child would have jumped on it for her sake, but he held still behind the two of them, looking on with hungry eyes instead. "You…You didn't have to…" Sayoe murmured emotionally.

"You would have really continued sleeping on a rock?" her husband asked incredulously, smiling slyly under his charcoal hair: "Ryouma," for he knew the boy was behind him, "Go get your mother some rocks. She misses the old set already."

"No…no…" said Sayoe, "It's just…such…a surprise…" Ryouma heard a tearful smile in her voice and she looked up at her husband gratefully.

"I'm glad," Takeshi consented with a loving smile, staring his wife's pretty face. "You feel tired even in my arms—sit down," he enticed.

"…I'm afraid I'll break it." He guided her toward the new mattress, sitting there on the floor in a frame. "Well, if it does break," he said factually, "We can take it back to the store. For I bought it in a store, not off a man or wagon, or mail…or possum."

She cried at his childish humor just as she sat down on the plush but firm top, "A store…" she repeated in awe.

"Yes," he smiled proudly. "That mysterious, large place with doors that respectable people enter in and out of." Looking back at his eldest son he winked again, happy he bought her such a fine thing. He could also tell his boy was itching to try it too so Takeshi told him, "Go check on your brother."

Ryouma frowned mildly but did as he was told, trotting next door to his closet size room he would now have to share with his wailing baby brother.

"So do you like it?" Takeshi asked her with a smile.

"Oh…" she felt the softness over the sheets. "It's flawless."

"Mihure helped me bring it in," said her husband. He referred to their close neighbors. Takeshi walked over and sat on the opposite side. "The man told me it'd be good for a long time. You'll be…in your late fifties before this thing goes, and I'll prolly be almost dead."

"Takeshi," she said scornfully, disapproving of his humor.

He grinned, "So do you like it, really?"

"Yes," she nodded her head, wiping her tears with her sleeve. "Yes. Thank you," she said softly.

"You're welcome."

A second later, the two saw their little boy enter back into their room. "Um, can you guys look at Coushander _now?_ _Please?_ I think he needs something changed..."

Oddly feeling refreshed, Sayoe got up with a smile and headed for the little room. "Can we keep him outside or something?" Ryouma wondered aloud, "Seriously!"

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	2. Tryin' To Try

_**Dancing On Glass and Other Stories**_

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**A/N**: For anyone who read Cou, Kano and Rion's ending was not an unhappy one, but it climbed an incredibly steep road, paved with love and loss; hope and genuine disappointment. Title sorta kinda from the Guy Clark song…

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2. Tryin' To Try

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He was such fun; a quick-skipping parlor tour around downtown Konoha, laughing in the night over theater, comic strips, and a shinobi's struggles in war and even the good times too. He'd beg her to let him see her home safe, escorting her like an oji-sama poisoned by thievery and overtaken by passion, "…My dad will kick me out!" Rion claimed, "Seeing you, ojo-sama, like this, my angel."

But she'd cringe when he called her angel. She knew she meant that much to him. For saving his life, and saving his passionate heart—opening his eyes to that beautiful practical face in the first place. And even though he was so handsome, healed, and such fun, she couldn't help but feel evasive and protective over her heart which she still vowed secretly to someone else…out there somewhere…lost in the foothills of the green, wide country. She knew not where he was, and she knew why even less.

And she'd cringe when she had to evade Rion's romantic suggestions and his actions: the flowers, earlier; that goofy poem. Or that stalk of celery for the dinner he fixed her all by himself in his cramped, noisy apartment room. Those pebbles thrown lightly on her window in the blue lonely evenings, and oh, the cringing fever pitched when he said he would throw himself from the Hokage's tower if it might win her the '_Konoha Laffs'_ picture contest. Oh how he tried, and oh he tried well, with devotion and the most honest sincerity a man could have. He clung to her arm on the sidewalk. He stared into her eyes deeply and could see forever there waiting when typically, he was not a forever sort of man. Kano loved him. But it wasn't with that kind of love.

She'd recoil after the conversations—he never stopped trying to see her "girly bedroom", blinking his dark and glittering hazel color eyes. Oh they were beautiful. In tones of brown and shades of heart and soul, he was beautiful. He knew without a doubt she was the one, and nothing would ever change that. No circumstance. No war. No catastrophe. No contest. And she'd cringe—she knew she was breaking his heart breaking off from his grip, saying, "It's late, Rion, I'm tired," hoping he'd finally understand the tone behind her friendly smile.

"So am I," he grinned, "May I sleep here tonight miss?" he asked hopefully.

"No…you may not," she tried to say with another odd smile.

"Are you afraid?"

"No. I just don't want to. I don't want it Rion. I am so sorry."

He was such fun, leaving once again sorely disappointed, and then she'd wave after him, smiling apologetically, and begin to wonder once again where _he_ was tonight.

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	3. There's Something To Be Said

_**Dancing On Glass and Other Stories**_

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3. There's Something To Be Said…

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After the war, he watched Dalzen's family grow—they both did, with grins and smiles after all these, what Chinatsu described, "unexpected" pregnancies. Sure it was only two in succession, but two seemed like twelve as they giggled and walked, teetered and laughed, welcoming their father home with hugs and smiles. Keiko laughed, and even Takato chuckled at Dalzen's dumb luck with the stork. (So long as the tall man wasn't looking.)

"…Isn't it though?" Kano grinned. And when the conversation lulled, she said again, gently, "I really wish you'd let me look at that."

"What?" Takato exclaimed, "Don't you think they did a good job?" he smiled.

The young woman pursed her lips uneasily, eying the crutches leaned against the side of the booth where they shared dinner together with whatever the restaurant had to offer (which still wasn't much Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays). But it was just fine, having him whole, safe and sound. Dalzen too—coming back to figure out how to be a father! "Well I don't know," she said casually, lost in thoughts of her own. "I mean I suppose…If you're okay. But how long must you use those crutches?"

"Another week."

"Wow," she said with surprise.

"I got it pretty good," he mentioned somberly.

"Yeah…" Kano sighed, trying to get all the images out of her head. As a medic, she had seen the worst of the worst in every med station.

"I think you just want the satisfaction," he looked up and smiled.

"I do," she didn't deny, smiling.

"But you don't have to take care of us _all_ the time you know."

"Oh but I do…" her enthusiasm waned, "I'm sorry…I just missed you guys so much. And I think about you all the time, so..."

"Well, we missed you too. There aren't any medics where we were, so you know, anybody like yourself is very sorely missed."

"Oh I know," she agreed dispiritedly. "Still…"

"…Still?"

"Oh—nothing. It's nothing."

"So, what have you been doing since you've been back in the village?" Takato asked curiously.

"Um—just working a lot at the hospital."

"Oh?"

She nodded.

"Anything else?"

"Oh," she smiled quickly, "I was just thinking," She saw him continue looking at her oddly, so she gave up her thoughts, "It seems like we're the only ones still alone. You and me—not married yet…no kids…Heck, no family…Do you think…Do you think…Coushander is married?"

Takato shrugged. "I don't know. And, um…" He smiled coyly, tugging his collar, "Um, I—Well…I…er…may not be single for long…I…I hope…"

"Oh you little holdout!" Kano exclaimed jubilantly, "What! Where! _When!_ When did you meet her? Who is she? What's her name?"

"I haven't asked her yet…Her name is Yukie, and, uh, well…"

"Did you—does Dalzen know about this?"

"Not really…" Takato shrugged. "I—I mean…" His stuttering ended soon as he swallowed and explained, "I met her before the war started, and know I don't know if she's still interested. I haven't looked her up yet…I really don't know if she got my letters, or where she is now…I only got one letter from her, but you know how those things go, she could have sent me fifty, and I still wouldn't haven't gotten them…"

"You _sneak!"_ Keiko grinned, "Oh I'm so happy for you!"

"Well…I…How…Can I ask you something?"

"Yes!"

Again, Takato seemed to tug at his shirt uncomfortably, "How can a person tell, if, if…they're…the _one_?"

"Well if you haven't seen her yet, I'm sure she's going to tackle you…then I'll _really_ have to look at your leg, but…I don't know. I mean, I know I must sound so silly to you guys, but I still care about Coushander…I think about him almost everyday. Something always reminds me of him. It's hard to explain," He nodded a little to her statement, and she blushed, "It's just something inside that tells me. I don't know how or why…So…How in the world did you meet her? Tell me everything. Start at the beginning," she asked of him.

"Well…" Takato smiled uncomfortably, "It was Chinatsu's idea…"

"…_Ohh_…" Kano grinned at length. "…I see now…"

"…Yeah. Dalzen was there too. It was, um…what are they called…oh yeah, blind date. It was a blind date. We met at a restaurant further in town and I was really dreading it. It was late, and I was so anxious she wouldn't be right for me at all, but I was really wrong. She came in a couple minutes late, she was holding the door for an elderly couple, and somehow I got the feeling that I wouldn't be disappointed. She was amazing. We had a great time. I couldn't believe it—neither of us could. I saw her off and on for…I don't know, three or four months at least; she really seemed to enjoy my company…and I did hers, but…when I told her I was going off, she didn't react how I thought she would. She didn't seem scared or anxious, but rather, almost…almost indifferent to it, as if she didn't want anything to do with it," Takato's eyes lowered. "The only letter I got from her said she missed me a lot, and hoped that I would come home. So I don't know. I don't know if she wants to see me or not."

"See her. And tell her what you've told me," Kano suggested. "The worst she can do is be ambivalent toward you, or say she found someone…else…" Kano trailed quietly. "I'm sure she had her reasons in the first place. I'm sure she still likes you!"

"I don't know. I got the feeling she's…reserved—not unlike me, but you know. Something upset her. I just don't know what."

"Well…I know what she must have felt," said Kano, a mixture of a smile and a frown on her lips. "I'm always afraid I'll never see you again. I've gotten to know too many shinobi who've never come back."

Takato nodded somberly, "I know. I feel the same way. Ever since…Captain...Saru," he said, staring over her shoulder distantly. "But we were all here for each other…well…except for…Well…" he trailed uneasily, not wishing to injure Kano with the mention of Coushander's name. "That reminds me…are we going to get together for our anniversary this year?" he asked lightly.

"I hope so. That'd be nice."

"Good," he nodded.

She smiled suddenly, "So go out there. Ask her."

"Yeah…" he said in a noncommittal tone, staring up at the ceiling…lost…

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Five days passed before she saw Ichida Takato again, still on his crutches, "Oh…come on, now I _have_ to look at that," she said seriously.

He smiled, "It's _fine_. Another couple days, then that's it."

He slid into the booth, and she slid in her end, and immediately, she asked, "So? How did it go? Did you find her?"

"Yes…"

"…And?" Kano said excitedly.

"Well, do you want the whole thing, or condensed?"

She grinned, "The whole thing…I'm not the last to know, am I?"

"Well…I…no. No. You'd be the first one to know. I think Dalzen is taking a working holiday over at the ward."

Kano grinned, "That poor man. So?"

Takato thought for a moment how to begin in front of her. "I…was an only child," he started slowly.

"Oh, we're going this far back," she tilted her head back and laughed.

"Yeah…" he nodded with an odd smile, "And I wasn't raised by my parents. They both passed away in the Kumo skirmishes when I was six. First I went to my grandparents, then to an uncle…Long story short, it was a pretty…unnatural upbringing…leading me to…many problems…Yukie didn't have that. She had four older brothers—she was the youngest. She didn't tell me about them, at least not what happened to them until I got up the courage and went to see her…All four of them served with the village, and all four went away just before Dalzen and I did. She wrote them, too, during the war. Three…didn't come back. They haven't seen or heard from the youngest yet."

"Oh no…what's his name?"

"Kiyomura, Shinshiro."

Kano thought, but couldn't place it. "I will write to each of the doctors back at the med stations. He could have come through any of them."

"Some guys can't remember their names," Takato supplied, looking downward. "Any number of things could have happened…Any number of things do happen…"

"That's so terrible," Kano said.

Takato nodded solemnly. "It's strange. I never had anything like she's had to go through. The closest thing I've had to family is you and Dalzen…Coushander and…Saru."

"I was an only child too…" Kano empathized, thinking of their Kiri family. "So…is she…is she even ready for marriage? Or is she too worried she'd end up a widow…?" Kano looked at him hopefully otherwise.

Takato tried to contain his grin, but it was difficult. "Uh, yeah, about that…"

"About that what?" she smiled.

"She sent me fifteen letters."

"Really?!" Keiko exclaimed, "_Fifteen_, and you only got _one!"_

"Yeah, I feel like a loser," he smiled dumbly. "…But…uh…we're going to wait a while…and see. I still felt like I did when I first met her. She seemed to feel the same way. So…I'm hoping. But, we'll wait and see."

Kano grinned, "Good for you. I'm so happy for you both."

"Yeah…It's strange, but…I do want to settle down. Have a kid. Not necessarily the fourteen Chinatsu is planning…"

Kano laughed, "Poor Dalzen…God what a boat he has sailed."

"Maybe that's why Dalzen's working so _late_ nowadays…"

They both laughed for a while, picturing Dalzen with his children.

"…Mm…still," Kano blushed, smiling. "I'm happy for you. And him. And her. And everybody. Now everybody is committed but me."

"There isn't anybody?"

"No. Just…you and Dalzen and Hina and everyone! I'm okay, really," Kano added, brushing a stand of hair behind her ear.

"You said yourself you still care about Coushander…Keiko, don't listen to what Dalzen says about him. I don't know where he is, or what he's done, but he's got to be out there somewhere. You just have to keep looking," She nodded once, distantly. "I didn't want to look…" Takato said. "I didn't want to look at all, I was way too shy. But I finally realized a life without it is worse than a life alone. I'm lucky I found somebody—and I'm sure glad I didn't cop out that night and miss it. I'm happy she still cares about me. She's just afraid of what we have to do. Afraid we won't come back. I am too, really…But all in all, I think there's something to be said for taking chances…"

Kano nodded, thinking of their old five-man cell, "There is indeed," she agreed wholeheartedly.

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A year to the date, before Takato and Yukie wed, Shinshiro finally came home, prouder of his country still, and happiest to meet a new brother.

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	4. The Elephant In the Room

_**Dancing On Glass and Other Stories**_

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**A/N:** A Morino. In love…(Caliko's knees go wobbly as she melts under her computer desk.) Think chapter 18 (of Cou) and go from there. And also, this really reminded me of Tahle and I's old story. Kinda wandering, but really cute.

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4. The Elephant In the Room

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"What…?" Dalzen followed her. "What'd I do…?"

Once reaching the end of the hall, the shorter woman turned briskly on her feet in one hundred and eighty degrees, biting back a smile. Despite how painful the subject was, she brought it with them from the door in reverse: "I am sorry about your friend. I hope he can recover."

"…Oh," Dalzen frowned instantly, thinking of Coushander. "Yes…"

"Bye…!"

Dalzen opened his mouth, but she was off again, turning left. He was about to move, but he hesitated. Then, springing from a concern he'd never bothered to foster before, he turned and stopped, calling, "I really am sorry…!" Yeah, he really was sorry he thought her name was pretty, and here she was, taking offense…

Chinatsu simply waved her hand behind, waving him off not in an unkind manner, but to show she had heard him.

Dalzen frowned, wondering how he could make up for this awful intrusion.

The woman was blushing, smiling wider than the tile on the floor.

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It was a while before he ran into her again. Oddly enough, it was at the hospital. He noticed her coming out of a room on the main floor; she was an intern with what appeared to be an interrogation unit. Since the Kiri team's return and Coushander's departure, Dalzen had walked the halls of the new Intelligence Division, seeing the same cycle of men he saw now. And while they were still hesitant to accept him, Dalzen knew one day his future rested there.

Until then, he and Takato had been on several missions lately. Most of them barely lasted two weeks. All were successful. It was a welcome change from the prior mission of two years, stumbling around in water country, chasing after renegades. Dalzen was here at the hospital now to see Keiko, and see how she was doing. True he never really checked up on anybody before…but that was before he had friends.

At first, Chinatsu didn't notice the Morino, which was saying something because you can't really miss an elephant in the room. Dalzen stood over six feet, and he was dressed in the trim indigo uniform with a teal color vest draped over his figure. He stood miles ahead over everyone else, with a view like a bird on a lamp pole.

Chinatsu was almost the opposite. Standing a little taller than Takato, about five-seven, she had blonde-brown hair cut short around her face, not unlike the Morino. Her eyes were beautiful—a shade of deep grey and blue, rather than black. The man saw they were filing papers at a desk; Dalzen paused as she turned at last, seeing his face and frame. She turned away at once—disappearing into another hall.

He followed her.

She was on no official business now—"Hey, wait, please?"

She stopped, and turned slowly, hugging a brown notebook over her blue and green uniform.

"I—I really am sorry about…last time. I only meant…"

She smiled, closing her eyes briefly. "Yes. I know you meant well. It's just…I hate my name."

"You…hate your name?" he repeated.

She nodded. "A thousand summers? It's a little extravagant."

"It's…" he resisted the compliment already fumbling out of his mouth. "Well, I am sorry."

"It's okay. It's not your fault. It's my mother. She was a Senju."

"Oh…"

"Yeah," she smiled again. "So…I'll let us start again—hi, I'm Hina."

"Oh…Um…Hi…I'm Morino Dalzen."

"…Have you heard from your friend?"

Dalzen's tone softened. "No…And…I'm not expecting that we will, for some time…" he said sadly.

"Yes…I think so too—I am very sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"So…"

He actually mimicked her, not out of teasing but from a genuine lack of knowing how to make small talk. "So…"

She smiled, waving with her left hand, "See you…around."

"…Oh, um—sure."

Dalzen totally forgot about Keiko, and why he was there.

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Walking the intel ward that day, three weeks later, he finally saw the fair-haired woman again. Dalzen approached her, "Hello, Hina."

"Hi Dalzen."

Silence.

"Working?"

"Oh—yeah," she smiled. "And you?"

"Went to file some papers," he pointed behind him awkwardly. The room he'd been in was in the opposite direction, but the fact actually slipped his mind.

"Ooo, horrid business, papers…"

"Yes," he smiled lightly, dangling there, suddenly starting to feel his palms get clammy.

"I'm…taking lunch in a half an hour. Want to meet me at that ramen shop down on the corner?"

Dalzen actually stuttered, "Oh—um, yes, I mean sure, I mean, um, okay."

"I guess I'll take that as a yes." Chinatsu nodded slowly and turned on her feet, grinning wider than Konohagakure.

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He met her there. I mean, he was the first one there, taking a seat at the table and staring out the window with a watery glaze coming over his small dark stare. He didn't exactly look like he belonged in a ramen shop alone, but hey. Who cares. He was meeting someone. Someone other than Kano, or Takato. He smiled a little, when nothing in the shop necessarily provoked him to do so. The server was very displeased the shinobi had ordered nothing so far. To him, the shinobi was just taking up valuable space at his valuable establishment. The two other ninja seated at the bar stared at the Morino—one of them recognized him. A few whispers ensued. The three civilians at table noticed him too, like he were a bad ninjutsu just waiting to happen.

But Dalzen paid no mind. For the first time in his life, he was oblivious to everything and everyone except for that curious young woman. She came in soon, spotting the tall dark-haired man instantly. He tried to stand, but he stopped midway when she bounced in the seat comfortably and smiled. The steward at last took their orders and she grinned. In her blunt and sometimes biting manner, she smiled, "…Do I have something on my face?"

"No! No, no no, um, I mean no…"

She giggled, watching his head fall like gravity was claiming him once again. "It's okay. I've never really been on a date before either," she admitted quietly. "Most guys think I'm weird."

"Wait—what?"

"A date."

"…?"

She laughed. She had him now. "Just where did you come from, Morino Dalzen?"

"…Well…um…The…well…it's complicated."

"Oh really? Try me," Her eyes flashed like a pro. Her kind smile was enough to keep it casual.

Dalzen's stare turned downward; the elephant in the room lowered his voice, "County fourteen…did you ever hear of it?"

"…Oh!" she said, without too much incredulity. "Yes. Yes I think so. I'm sorry. And now…you're with Konoha?"

He nodded.

"Makes sense," she said. "It must be awful though for you, I am sorry."

"It's fine. But…thanks."

"…I was born here, bred here—Konoha is all I've ever known…" She looked at him again, and admired him. "You must be very brave."

They received their order. Dalzen's came in a box—he wasn't really intending on eating. He usually met Takato at the other shop around the corner. Chinatsu smiled eagerly at hers, picking up the chopsticks. "So," she continued after a moment, "Have you been running missions a lot, lately?"

"Yes," he nodded. "With Takato and a few others."

"Well, the Senju speak well of you."

"Oh?"

She smiled, "I hear things, being slightly in with that crowd…We gossip on end—privately of course. Even I am prone to it—I regret! But…Your mission…to water country…" she lowered her voice, "…must have been a covert one, hm?"

"Well…" Dalzen suddenly looked around. "Yes."

"Don't worry, I won't ask further than that, but I had the feeling…The Senju don't usually trust outsiders to handle things like that…" she worded carefully.

Dalzen knew where she was going. He nodded. "I understand."

She looked at him for a moment, wanting to probe deeper, but she refrained, pulling her head back from the conversation, and her chopsticks. She didn't know what he was thinking. So, she pursued him slowly. "I wonder—They…may have mentioned…you're good at genjutsu…" she trailed, swallowing something other than food. It was much more difficult. "…I'm not that awesome at it…Do you think…you might…show me a trick or two, sometime?"

Dalzen blinked. "Um…yes, of course."

"Thanks," she smiled. "We could…talk…and stuff…So long as you only call me Hina," she insisted.

"Yes—yes of course," he nodded his head instantly like one of Kano's dogs.

Chinatsu laughed. "Great." Dalzen had beautiful, dark eyes.

Hina's smile was warm as the sun—the tall man looked away, wondering.

Dalzen soon became aware of an elephant in the room.

And for once, it wasn't him.

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	5. The Red Arrow

_**Dancing On Glass and Other Stories**_

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**A/N:** Sorry this one is a bit long…but it's a sea story, darnit! Again, Akeno was mentioned in '_Victory_', the side story about Saru, Harou, and Karada. Please go read Joseph Conrad. Really. And also, I should take this moment to apologize for Saru and (Iyadomi) Keiko's absence from these one-shots, but I felt like their story was covered adequately in '_Victory_'.

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5. The Red Arrow

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The engineer was unhappy.

Naturally, his grizzled face set in sour leather, outing lips and a gray beard under a straw hat weren't the kindest of expressions, even when he smiled. But with tender ferocity he was silent and serious above a blue shirt and gray trousers. He was best known for his sound convictions, and his ability to argue them in victory with a large shaking fist and a proud smile. But today, he was indignant, upset, and even a little anticipatory of something each of them knew had been coming. "I knew he'd leave," he sighed, "I knew he'd leave to find some silly girl," he muttered beneath his breath on the cold fall morning. "And I knew he'd be silly enough to _marry_ her, whoever she is…" Indeed, he had not yet seen her sweet face. But Shouta growled—every working footstep above deck felt today like unwelcome, happy haste.

Much had to be prepared. The crewman were working hard, getting the ship ready. "…Captain Sanada!" cried the second mate before two o'clock, spotting the mysterious couple on the dock, ready to come up. A couple boatswains happily slid down the ropes, racing to carry the luggage. "Captain coming on deck!" he yelled again loud and clear for all to hear—Shouta banged his head on the ceiling below, growling. Rising from a sleepless nap, he rolled from the sheets and made his way into the piercing light of day. "So, what's she look like…" he grumbled, following the crew.

Well.

Her hair was an orange auburn, like a sugar maple in early fall, glittering yellow in the afternoon sun like a halo around her head. The color was perfect, woven, and without deviation. Wearing the crown of autumn, she walked beside the captain slowly. Her face and arms were white—the kind of white one has from living indoors most of her life. Her clothes were modest and simple. A blue dress, with long sleeves and a white hem around her waist. The dress flared slightly at the bottom, like an umbrella over her small shoes. She boarded, climbing out of the smaller boat with her husband's hand around hers. The young woman held near him quite close—smiling nervously.

The engineer gaped.

She was incredibly young to go to sea.

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That evening, at dinner in the stateroom, he watched her through silence. While the others talked gaily, he assented lowly, with grumbles and grunts, keeping his eyes toward their competent captain paired with his thin little woman. Was she even twenty yet?

The others seemed to like her. She was a quiet girl, with not much to say, predictably. The last thing anyone wanted was a deceitful wife. Sanada didn't deserve it. The crew certainly didn't, either. They got enough grief from their busy schedule. In general, she was perfect. So far. She was obedient, and procured no shocking opinions or gossip typical of those her age. She looked very attached to Sanada, and easily intimidated by the others…Why so weak?

Tomorrow, Shouta vowed, he would continued serving aboard the vessel as though nothing had happened at all. A girl of that nature would surely grow bored. And boredom would lead to intrigue. And intrigue…Well. As soon as that happened, Shouta vowed to leave.

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"We set sail tomorrow," said Sanada to her later. "The last of the cargo was loaded today," When he looked to his young wife, she was glancing about the little cabin slowly, as if she was still entranced in a daydream. "Akeno…?" he said softly.

"Oh," she turned, "Sorry," She went and sat down on a chair near his writing desk.

"Is it too small?" he smiled. "I know it's different than what—"

"Oh no. It's not that at all," she said truthfully, in a quiet manner. She finally confessed the more his face tried to ascertain her somber stare, "It's just…I was thinking of…Keiko-chan. I miss her so much. I wish…" Akeno shook her head, suppressing tears.

Sanada frowned.

"I just have no one…aside from you…to share this happiness with…It makes me sad. Keiko…was my dearest friend for so long. I wish she was still here. Whenever I heard a squeak in the night, or found myself in a place foreign, I'd send a bird to her, and she'd come."

Sanada empathized. "She was a remarkable woman. I understand. I know how you must feel. My dearest…" he came forward, and reached for her hands. She extended them up. "I love you. That's all I can say. We will land in a port town in three weeks or so—there's a wife of a merchant who lives there I know. She's a gentle woman…" Akeno smiled, but was unmoved. "I know it's not the same…But…we have each other now."

The woman nodded. "I love you," she returned, with a glossy-eyed smile.

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The captain's wife was unseen all through the following day until evening. She stepped on deck in a plain brown dress, the bottom hem hanging just above her ankles. The setting sun was exiting the atmosphere, disappearing beneath the horizon, trailing small yellow and orange shadows on the water; nearly the same color as her hair. The breeze they had enjoyed had waned, and would no sooner tear the seeds off a dandelion. Crawling toward the open sea, the ship pointed onward, toward Taki. The journey on the wide river would be a long one.

The night air was sweet and cool, floating through without so much as a whisper on the canvas. Captain Sanada joined his wife there, "Slow going," he remarked. Back in tsuchi, the land of earth, he was never at ease as he was now. She admired his tall, proud poise while still feeling homesick for the trees and mountains. Akeno nodded her head once, to show she was listening. He reached out slowly for her hand. "…You're cold," he blinked.

She smiled quickly. "It's a beautiful night."

"Yes."

She nodded again, glancing up at the navy sky—a star revealed itself and twinkled small, white light.

_Dearest Keiko—are you resting there?_

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The ship stopped a week and a half later to a port town to pick up supplies. The current was stronger now, leading them to open seas to the north east. "It's truly something," he pronounced, expressing his distrust of foreign river lines. It was a distrust and dislike scattered among the crew in varying degrees. "Shouta, though, hates it the most." he said to her in their cabin while she organized a few of her favorite novels in his bookcase. "I've noticed him," she said. "Is he always so…stern?"

"He's…very energetic when I speak with him. You know, he knows a little something about almost everything. Finest engineer I've ever known."

"Oh."

"Do you like the crew?" he asked tentatively, seizing her meditative expression.

"Very much," she said at once. "Some are very kind. Some…well…not so."

"They aren't exactly tsuchi upper-class," he smiled lightly.

"No," she brightened with a coy smile.

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He went ashore very early the following morning with a few of the other crew accompanying, leaving the second mate and the engineer, among others, behind. Seeing as they were stopped in this wide blue river, she headed up soon after sunrise to view the calm water. It was a lovely view.

With her white little elbows resting on the rail, she looked out upon the calm, glassy water. So this was the mirror. It was certainly grand. The land of earth was a hundred miles or more behind her now. Her home of crowded woods climbing from the rocky ground—that home that was home to the woodland creatures and woodland men. Here—here required a different set of legs upon a different surface. Of glass and of depth, it could swallow men whole without hesitation. But Akeno wouldn't go so far as to call it dangerous. The Kusa ninja had shown her that, long ago.

No, this water, this mirror was always free from politics and intrigue. Instead, the only devices of surprise were the men on this old rig and the cold wind, wild and roaming free.

How lonely.

She decided she'd walk. Lord she knew she'd go crazy if she could not roam, despite her nervousness. The crew was thin—nearly unseen behind stacks of crates and barrels; the spars and the rigging. Each had their own duties while the captain was away. Akeno smiled to them if she met eyes and each smiled or nodded in return. While longing for some worthwhile occupation to engage her hands, she continued aft and she found something extremely peculiar. Out of the way, stuck on the side of a wooden partition was an arrow. The sharp metal triangle was on the end of a thin, straight shaft; quite long in length. The end had a fluted red tail, like a hawk. A sudden chill frightened her skin. No such object should be resting there…should it?

She glanced around quickly, but she saw no one. Hearing nothing, seeing no one…an _arrow!_

After the initial thread of fear in such curious placement, he considered it more carefully: it was pointing south. Her home was south. But even Sanada was born in Kusa…

Quickly, she returned port side, where she continued walking before she finally returned below deck.

An _arrow…?_

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A weak and half later, they were flying northeast on a quicker current of dark blue. Her husband showed her on deck one evening. "Taki is beautiful. With luck you'll start to see it in another few days. Then, we'll head back to tsuchi."

The woman nodded, smiling faintly over the quietness of this strange land of water. He walked with her further. As they walked near the center of the ship, with the masts and spars rising tall above their heads, she noticed something on a beam under the mizzenmast. It wasn't easily seen since it was mostly brown and pointing south. It was another arrow.

.

The next morning they were greeted with a deluge and a horrid squall. The new experience tested her nerves—she stood shakily, watching chairs, books, and picture frames slide. She leaned on his desk when it slanted six inches with a long, wooden screech. Sanada came down and told her to remain there; the storm was growing violent.

All day it dragged on, pushing them away from the coast. At night, it swelled. Her faith in his old ship diminished quickly and she made her way on deck. She had made the decision quickly. Akeno walked up the steps and onto the wet deck, greeted with a heavy downpour. She could hear thunder in all intensity now, and the masts flapping wildly, sounding like a constant cascade of earth jutsu from an Iwa ninja. It was loud and rolling, and dangerous.

"Miss, you should not be up here!" said the first crewman she came across.

"What can I do?" she cried out.

He was about to answer nothing when a crate rolled out ahead of them, breaking loose the ropes—"Grab that!"

She dashed ahead, taking the rope as he took the barrel and they corralled them all back, tying it off again—she nearly fell backward as the ship seized. The crewman caught her wrist in time, and pulled her forward. "Now you should really head back down, miss," the crewman said loudly.

Reluctantly, she withdrew from the scene, but she looked around—she could not see Sanada anywhere. A hard jolt tripped her footing, and the girl stabilized herself just in time. Then suddenly another crewman shouted at her, "Miss, go back down!"

A final time, she looked around…noticing only the arrow under the spar. She looked at it defiantly, as if her own conscience had stuck it there herself. She was no sailor. She was no adventurer—not like Keiko. No man. No warrior princess. She stared at the water beating on her form and the brown deck until she heard a man, a gruff man call to her, or call to someone, "Hey! Help me over here!"

Carefully, she navigated towards the man.

It was the chief engineer.

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Sailing back to tsuchi after all the cargo was delivered, she was with her husband on deck, walking leisurely. She appreciated now both the beauty and the brawn of "the old thing". Near the masts, they walked.

She nearly gasped, but she bit her tongue when she saw the arrow affixed on the wood.

It pointed north, now.

Quickly she averted her eyes, smiling faintly to herself.

Meanwhile, her husband was mournfully silent. A few of the crew had left the ship in the port town, and several new had come aboard. But Sanada was forlorn with the change. Akeno looked up at him. She could see it in his eyes. Sanada frowned; "It's too bad that Shouta left us…" the captain remarked sadly.

It was news to her. "What? He did?"

Sanada nodded.

"Where…was he going?" she asked calmly.

"South…To home."

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	6. Fate

_**Dancing On Glass and Other Stories**_

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**A/N:** This one sort of fills in the blanks to a few things in the Morino (and Ichida) family, so that's why it's longer. Please forgive me! But, I love their history—even if it was utterly tragic.

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6. Fate

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He looked at the newborn child—the beautiful baby girl for a long time. He looked at her in his wife's arms in the hospital room and the woman finally said to him, "What's wrong?" His wife looked at the child's face, "What's wrong with her?"

Her husband sat there and smiled…"Could…Do you think…Could we name her…_Keiko_?"

His wife laughed.

Now, that little girl was twenty-one, and she wanted to get married to a very handsome man, the handsomest one she had ever known in her life. They were engaged. He was a good young man. He was a talented young man. She loved his family. They were old friends of her parents. They were good and kind and she especially loved his practical sister. But recently, the family had just gone through hell. And Ichida Keiko wasn't sure how to help, what to do, or even what to say beyond her own grief and sadness. The young woman had not seen Teal since the funeral.

He was reclusive, these days. Somehow, she knew he would be.

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_Dear Hoshi,_ he wrote. _I finally decided. I'll go. Maybe I will find something. I don't know what else to do at the moment. I'm sorry—Please come back. I'll be leaving in a few days. Your little brother,_ Teal

Three days later, the practical sister returned. Before she entered his room, she took off her headband. She knew she shouldn't, but she knew the words they might say required it. Shortly after their father's coma, Teal took leave as an intern with the Intelligence Division, and now that their father had gone, Teal had completely severed all ties. He vowed he would never be going back. Hoshi had scolded him severely before she left, telling him it was simply fear.

"No, it's not," he argued obstinately.

Hoshi held back her tongue from anything truly vicious. "Dad…Dad did," she'd said calmly, "what _no one_ else did. What no one else could _do_. If anything, he always knew the risks he was taking—"

"So _why!_ Why did it _happen!_"

Why was their father now dead.

Hoshi's eyes lowered. "I don't know… But I know he wouldn't want to see you back down."

"Would he want to see me dead too? It's not worth it."

"_Yes_, it_ is_," Hoshi rejoined fiercely. Teal, still flopped on his bed, said nothing. "Why do you think genes are passed on the way they are? You—"

"Then my heart isn't going to do it! I don't care! I don't want it!"

Which was about all he'd decided about the matter so far.

Until now.

"…I'm happy you've decided to go," Hoshi said gently after he greeted her—they hugged. The whites in Teal's eyes were still red. They were much like his father's. Dark and intense, but not unkind, especially when he offered someone that charming, sly smile of his. Hoshi smiled. He was calm for the moment in his room with his old grey duffle packed. His leaf village headband was nowhere in sight. For that, she frowned. She had liked seeing it on him, over his forehead, bordered by dark brown roots and blonde-brown hair. It was a little shorter than Dalzen's. It was almost the same color as his mother's.

Hoshi brushed aside a jet-black strand from her cheek. Her hair was long, and perpetually pulled back in a ponytail. She was a little taller than her younger brother, and older by two years. Her eyes were a little lighter in tone, like her mother's. "So does mom know?" she asked.

"Well…not yet," he smiled nervously.

Hoshi smiled emotionally. "So you were planning on telling her just before you left? That's not very _suave_, Teal."

"Yeah…well…I know…"

Hoshi looked at him. Over two months ago, he was confident, proud, and eager to leave that house and find a new one, with Keiko. Now, he was solemn, sad, and his spine was not straight. Inclining his head forward, he was still grieving. Hoshi could say the same for herself, but she had no intentions of leaving behind the shinobi world for good. The thought was unfathomable. "Are you sure you'll be all right?" Granted he was still capable, but he was unstable.

He nodded shortly. "…Yeah."

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They all said long goodbyes early the next morning, and with his duffle, he walked out of the house and toward another. Toward the Ichida household. And if nothing had ever happened, he'd have probably been married by now (much to his father's chagrin), working at the Intel Division, coming home to her…

Teal shook these thoughts out of his head the moment he knocked.

Yukie answered, "Oh Teal…good morning. How are you?"

Teal shrugged. "Fine…Is Keiko home?"

"Yes, she is…Please, come in, are you going somewhere?" she inferred from his pack. The young man nodded. "I'm sorry to have come so early, but I'm leaving on a trip…I was supposed to take it with…my father."

"…Oh," the woman was surprised. "Let me call her down…"

Teal waited, standing in the small foyer. Her room was upstairs; the whole upstairs—the attic. It was a beautiful soft green color on the walls with yellow color curtains on both windows. She had quite a bird's eye view of the town, and in a way, she was like a bird herself. She had not yet left the nest. At the tender age of twenty-one, she was still a genin, working at the Academy as a basic ninjutsu/genjutsu instructor. Teal saw her while growing up whenever their parents got together. Her father had been his sensei, so he always knew a lot about her. Likewise, Dalzen had been her sensei, and she had known him quite well. She was fair-haired, like her father, and Keiko was beautiful—her eyes like smoky quartz, glistening and dark. They were her mother's eyes, and she was her father's daughter.

"Teal…" her voice sounded anxious and cautious as she entered the hall, dressed neatly without a headband. "…Where are you going?" She had a slight sense, like her father. Except it was more an empathic one.

"…I'm going. On a trip—I just wanted you to know. It was…" It still wasn't any easier, no matter how many times he'd said it thus far, "…It was supposed to be a trip with…my father, to the place he was from." Teal was surprised when he suddenly heard another pair of footsteps enter the hall—"You're going…to the land of wind?" Keiko's father asked.

"Yes—the west end. Where the rivers converge north."

"County fourteen…" Takato supplied quietly. He was dressed in his shinobi's attire with the leaf insignia—he looked about to leave for his duties as well.

His daughter took a few steps forward. "Dad...can I talk to him alone?"

Takato smiled warmly. "Yeah…sorry…Please, Teal, be safe. I worry about you."

Teal nodded to his former sensei, "Thanks. I'll be ok."

Takato looked as if he were about to say something more, but he refrained. "See you later, sweetheart."

"Bye dad," Keiko looked down once he left. She looked up again once the odd respite had passed, "You couldn't give me any warning?" she smiled lightly.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't even give my mother much either. I just…I just have a lot of…figuring out to do."

"Isn't it strange…" she murmured sadly.

"Yeah…" he returned, holding back tears. Forcing a faint smile in place of confusion and sadness he looked up, "I still love you. But…I need time away. I need to figure out…where to go from here."

"I understand," she nodded quietly.

He looked up, with a little surprise.

She smiled. "I'd wait for you forever, Teal. Take as much time as you need, I don't care. I'll still be around."

He hugged her briefly. "Thank you."

.

It took him three days to reach the border. He felt like a fugitive. All he needed was an ANBU opps team trailing an inch behind him and some stolen scroll in place of a change of clothes. Yet it was only the animals that noticed his presence for a few seconds while he passed through unknown territory. He kept trying to make sense of an incredibly out of date map, with no avail. Perhaps that was the fact: he was more a tourist than a misplaced shinobi. And the bumbling tourist he was…soon got very, very lost.

"…All right," he suddenly announced aloud as the sun was setting, "I'm lost. Literal and metaphysical and figuratively…and if that's west," he squinted, "Am I…too far west? Or must I go north…?" Teal questioned. He looked down at the map and then at his surrounds. It was then he didn't really know what to do. So, he sat down on a rock, looking at the rolling landscape—tawny yellow, a long road, some scattered bits of forest, and the smell of sand and wind. He stared at the sod beneath his shoes. Tawny and short.

The navy scarf around his neck blew east. Perhaps he had gone too far west. "West," he pointed the direction like he was eight again, and under Ichida-san's direction. "East. North…" he pointed straight ahead of him. "I've been going the wrong way," he realized. Teal sat up, feeling a magnet pull him north. It was a strong feeling, and moving was certainly better than going nowhere…

.

"…Is this the way?" After such repeated questions and heavy miles walked with two weary feet, Teal arrived.

It was a walled city, and it caught his attention just like a ninja seal out in the open. It demanded investigating. He found he did not need any special clearance to enter—that is, the guards did not ask for any, so Teal went in without uproar. Both local police and suna shinobi could be seen only downtown and spotty—most of the suna nin were haunting the outdoor odenya stands and laughing, taking a healthy respite from their missions. It appeared a normal city, growing modern buildings and skinny twigs called trees with dark green canopies, and small blue flowers beneath. Teal found what he was looking for when he passed by the local government office located deeper in the city on the lazy afternoon. He recognized the name on the plaque. Resisting the urge to smile, Teal walked on.

So this was the epicenter of where it all went down. He was really in county fourteen; the premier city.

This was the city in which his grandmother died of sickness, and his grandfather, a hanging, of his own hands; all for the cause of freedom—to give back this crowded little cultural epicenter to Konoha. With mountains to the west, and forest to the right, it was very strategic territory indeed. And being part of the wind republic, what impressed the young man most was how modern it seemed, and how much it smelled of Konoha, even with the dust wafting in the air. Would his father even recognize the place?

Teal traveled inward, seeing the houses of business and the homes of families, all cramped in tight corners with laundry lines hanging high above, turning shadows of sunlight into geometric lines and shapes. Passing by the locals, Teal felt alone.

Wandering deeper, the shapes of yellow light grew small and the air, dry and baked, touched his skin colder in the shadows. The sun was going down now. He couldn't see it very well. The buildings, like the trees, were narrow and tall. The young man sighed. Despite all this mystery, he still didn't know what to make of it. If only his father were here, holding his young son's hand, offering wisdom born from all this pain and suffering…

For another half-hour the young man walked slowly and steadily—the sun sank over the mountains in the distance. He was sure he'd passed by every cemetery in town, and he had found nothing there. So with shadows creeping on his back like monsters, he soon headed south, toward the large gate. Teal could see the border in sight when suddenly he stopped, becoming aware of an old woman and her broom, calmly sweeping her front porch. It was a tall, narrow building nestled in-between others just the same, but she had caught his attention like another seal, right out in the open.

The old woman looked up as she swept the last of the dust off her portion of this expanse of stone and brick. Off it flew in a brown cloud and dissipated into the dry wind. He turned back to the border, watching the movement change at the gates. He decided to come forward to her. "Excuse me," the young man burst out curiously, "But is there a curfew in this town?"

"Hush," she said sternly. "What now, young man?"

He came closer, "Is there a curfew in this town?"

"No. But they can come for you at any time," she answered quietly.

There was enough raggedness in her voice that caused the sudden race of his heart to believe her words were true. Teal looked again. He had a better view of the border. There were quite a few more guards now. "Why?"

Again, she waited before answering, her grip firm on the shaft and unmoving. "Well. I don't know," she said.

"Are there any good hotels here?" he asked her. "Anyplace you can recommend?"

The old woman shook her head.

"What?" he exclaimed, and then remembered to keep his voice down. He thought he'd seen at least one or two taverns which might harbor lodgers. "No place at all?"

"You're not from here," the old woman stated. "Are you here on business, young man?"

"Well…" he thought for a moment. "I suppose so."

"Do you have money?"

"…A little."

"Well. Perhaps I can assist you. Come inside young man."

He followed her slow gait inside. He closed the door behind after what seemed like a millennia coming into the anteroom. It was a narrow space. He removed his shoes, and she changed hers, putting away her broom in a small, narrow closet. She turned to him, and still with a quiet, ragged voice, she asked him, "Is your business…personal?"

"Well…Yes, it is," he answered her tone in the same. "My…grandparents were from here. This country."

The old woman stared at him longer, scanning his face in every detail. She looked at him this way without moving an inch—Teal too felt frozen in place—devoid of any other option. "Your grandparents…" the old woman spoke finally. "…How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

"That's young," she remarked. "Very young—By yourself? Yes? Young enough to be… a grandson, and a son…" she trailed, still looking as if she were trying to recognize the young face. "If…" she murmured. "No…"

"No?" Teal repeated her wandering thought. She was about to forfeit the idea until his small, intense gaze continued capturing her own.

"Well…I don't suppose…Your father…would have black hair…?" she said casually.

"Yes." Teal nodded, starting to smile a bit.

"And your grandfather….do you know what color hair he had?"

"Black as black," Teal answered. "My mother happened to give me this," he said in reference to his own.

She looked almost puzzled. "But, you couldn't be. That would be impossible…" she smiled, shaking her head. "You must…be some…other…person," she trailed, moving into the living room. He followed her slow walk. "Why?" Teal suddenly smiled again, "Do you remember? Who would you think my father was?"

"Was?"

"Was?" Before Teal had a chance to answer, the second voice came in from the small galley kitchen beneath the stairs. The second woman, nearly as old as the first, gasped, "Oh dear…oh dear! Who is _this!"_

"Chihiro, hush, this is…"

"A _young_ man!" The woman, more spry than the other turned and then stayed still. "Who are you? Why is he here!"

"He is…unaccustomed to this city."

"He is a _foreigner!"_

"Hush Chihiro! Sister, be kind. He will sleep in the attic tonight. He can pay for his troubles."

The other woman laughed. "Pay for his trouble will he! My my! He is handsome!" she smiled, looking him over in the way her sister had. "Yes, you look like trouble, yes you do indeed!"

"Sister, be quiet, or you will wake Tomodai-san." The woman who'd shown Teal in turned. "I can show you to your room now."

They followed in a slow line. The woman, Teal, and then her sister Chihiro, who fetched some clean sheets along the way without further question. They reached the room after climbing the gauntlet of the spindle staircase, slanting probably as bad as the local politicians…

The elder sister cleaned off a small wooden side table and attacked a few of the cobwebs with a broken spindle from a table leaning in the corner. Meanwhile, Teal helped her younger sister make the bed up. Chihiro had also grabbed a few matches and a candle, lighting it. There was one window, still letting in a beautiful cool evening light, revealing everything up there dusty.

"There," the old woman said quietly, stopping to stand quite still. She did not appear weak, but limited in movement, unlike her nimble sister. The elder sighed, "You are welcome here, however, before another word is spoken, tell me the impossible has not happened. Tell me…you are_ not_ the grandson of Morino Korzenei."

"Sister!" Chihiro did not seem offended by the blatant interrogation, rather, amused.

"I…I…am," Teal opened his mouth again with the fist of a hundred questions, but closed it.

The sisters exchanged glances—one solemn, the other, intrigued.

"Why are you _here!"_ Chihiro burst—quietly.

Teal returned the tone. "To…I was…" he shook his head, suddenly devoid of speech—"Just to see my grandfather's grave," he said finally.

Again, the two women looked at each other, in a mixture of surprise and bewilderment. The eldest frowned, "He is not here. Surely you knew that."

"Yes…" Teal rejoined after a moment. "I wasn't expecting him to be. But…"

"But why did you—" the old woman started. "Why. Didn't…Didn't young Dalzen…" there was a pause after she spoke the name, "…_warn_ you? Why would he permit you to come here?"

"…Well…we were supposed to take the trip together."

Chihiro's sister moved finally and sat in a chair, unbroken by time. She appeared overwhelmed not by her limbs but by shock. "Why? Even _he_ would not have had sense to return to this land. Was he planning on coming _here_, really, to this city?" she asked incredulously.

Teal shrugged.

"…Why?" the old woman wondered again. Chihiro also expected an answer judging by her expression. She folded her arms expectantly over her old blue frock, but Teal had none. "He didn't tell me his reasons…" the young man said honestly. "He never told me hardly anything about this place…It was…I…don't know."

Teal's uncertainty seemed to recover her sense. Sitting there, she nodded once. "…Well. I am sorry if I alarm you. And while you are under this roof, you will not be detained by the authorities," Her younger sister smiled. The eldest continued, "I do not know where Korzenei's brother placed your grandparents. I do know he was able to recover…their bodies," she worded solemnly. "But as to the location…I do not know. But it would not be wise for you to remain here. If the authorities see your name, they will detain you."

The old woman stood. "Oyasumi."

.

Teal's night in this town was nearly restless. Instead of rising in an innocent establishment, he was rising in a home of silence and secrecy: how long were martyrs remembered by history and hunted for it? The soft blue light from the window permeated the old space. How long? Today, this day, and the next? And so on and so forth? Was his family name to be remembered like this so queerly for all eternity?

After he changed in the morning and washed a haggard young face, Teal stood before the window of the small space and watched the sky. It was the about the only thing in view. There, he watched the sky lighten over misty brown mountains facing west, south-west, and over the few twiggy things they called trees. He listened to the sounds and watched little birds flying from roof to roof. There were no tourists in this town. Just businessmen and suna shinobi from time to time, searching for information and a soft place to land. And perhaps Dalzen had never meant to return at all. Teal frowned. Perhaps he never intended to make the trip. Perhaps the spoken thoughts and ideas were simply enough to make his son want to go someday.

Yeah. That must have been it. "Next year—perhaps," was the type of thing he used to say. He must have known it would be like this. Bleak and pitiable.

Teal looked at the small room, remembering the small, cramped streets and narrow walks. The impressive government building showed a proud history, siding with the land of wind. Craftily, it shrouded the facts that in the first place, many did not want to. Many, including the Morino clan. But times changed and military strength and pressure from the land of wind were enough to blackmail the people by the time Shodai had come for it. Given such terrible laws and challenges of everyday life—were the people genuinely content? Perhaps they were complacent, now. And freedom was just another word buried under years of strife. Dalzen had often hoped the place would return someday to Konoha's jurisdiction. But Teal understood with one visit that would never happen.

The young man's troubled mind was soon interrupted by a soft tap on the door. Chihiro was smiling, "Good morning. Were you warm enough?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you. Good morning."

"Breakfast is downstairs. You may come down at anytime. We will not hold you hostage…" she grinned.

"Thanks…" Teal shook his head, erasing a smile. He did not want to fathom how much those two women had seen in their younger days. So, he went down soon.

.

"May I ask a question?"

Chihiro looked at her sister expectantly.

The eldest finally nodded. Chihiro smiled. The eldest grew a faint one on her lips also, and with a touch of playful sarcasm in her voice, said quietly, "Lord for a day a Morino never asked a question…Maybe that's another reason why they never fit in. Yes, young man, what is it?"

"Would you have any idea where my grandparents are buried?"

"Well…" her expression soon turned somber again in an instant while sipping tea. "I really don't know. I know his brother moved Dalzen south when they were living in exile, but…something tells me north. Or perhaps east."

Teal nodded slowly, "Thank you."

"…So young man, how old are you?" Chihiro asked him.

"Twenty-three."

Chihiro was surprised. Her sister already expected the answer after hearing it the other night. "My my!" Chihiro smiled. "So young! And are you…hem-hem…a _ninja_?" she hushed on the last word.

"Well…yes," he answered hesitantly. Technically, he still was.

"So will you be moving on today?"

"Yes." he answered more readily this time, offering up change from his pocket. "Oh, keep it," Chihiro said. "Consider it the last farewell of a city that forsook you. My my, doesn't that sound strange!" she grinned, nodding with her sister. "We are both here alone—there is a man, Tomodai-san who stays with us. He is a businessman…" As if on cue, the older gentleman was heard coming in through the front door. His build was hidden until he came into the living room, seeing the people gathered at the small table near the kitchen. He was a grey-haired man, in his late fifties or early sixties, with a grey beard and sunken eyes and a wrinkled face overtop a plain grey newspaper. His clothes were a brown shade of grey also, but business like.

"Oh, morning," he nodded to all.

"Tomodai-san!" said Chihiro.

"Ohayo gozaimasu, Tomodai-san," said the eldest woman.

"Ohayo gozaimasu, Reina-san, I believe I finally found what you were looking for…"

He offered her the back page of what looked like obituaries. And over top the others, the old woman read the notice of death—Morino Dalzen.

Teal saw it too.

"…Forgive me," said Reina. "Except…we saw the notice about your father being in a coma. I did not want to say anything—we had hoped…"

"It's…fine," Teal murmured. "We had…hoped too…" he said slowly.

"You're…?" Tomodai blinked in surprise.

"He is!" Chihiro grinned.

After a respite of silence, Tomodai pulled up another chair and sat, pouring himself something to drink. "I am sorry," said Reina again. "Tomodai gets this paper from a business friend and gives them to us. They're all from Konoha. Then, after we read them, we burn them."

Sadly, Teal looked up after a while. "How many of you are left in this town?"

"Not many," she answered.

"That's terrible."

"Yes, well. It is the only place we have—"

"No I mean that's awful."

"…We have borne it, young man."

Teal held in emotion, singed with a little anger and indignance.

"…Yes," Chihiro spoke up. "Yes…"

"When you leave," Reina picked up, "Leave out Tomodai-san's side."

The gentleman smiled. "Pretend he is a young partner of mine?" he smiled. "He could have very well been."

The young man found a small smile.

"It's been a long time since you two ladies had a friend enter this home," he mused quietly.

"He could still be detained," said Reina.

"He could," Tomodai granted. "Be he could also be detained by memories—recollections of the past. Kindness," he added, as an afterthought.

"It was all quite morbid," answered the eldest. "Not morbid in the sense of blood, but in the sense of pride…In the sense of reason, seeing as we had none. No courage. No will. No hope for anything else. The others knew what was best for us…To speak out was to rebel. And to rebel meant death…imprisonment. And by the time Shodai came…it was too late. So for that, it was all quite regrettable."

"Hum…" Chihiro sounded disappointment.

The eldest rose from the table at last, "We are sorry, young man." and she began taking back items to the kitchen. Her sister stood and helped, and Tomodai admitted he had to move on as well. He offered a kind goodbye to Teal.

Later, Teal offered a kind one to the sisters. They both wished him luck. He left out Tomodai's side, and stood in the cool morning, seeing the familiar geometric shadows. The duffle on his back offered a curved one. For that, he smiled faintly.

Teal Morino left the city.

The dreame was an unattainable one. Teal knew that now. He thought back to the stories his father and Ichida-san reminisced about the secret Kiri mission. How his father had been so silent and cold-hearted back then. The disillusion in the world had already entered into his blood. But soon it changed, when they returned.

Teal proceeded north. Perhaps the reason why the old woman had suggested it was because of the forest. As soon as Teal crossed out of the county, stealthily, the wood thickened and the river's tributaries flowed by. The forest was not dense, but it was tall and shaded. Teal looked for any cemeteries.

Northeast, quite close to the border of Konoha, he noticed a peculiar forest of trees off a beaten path. Growing on a golden prairie, it nestled like a peculiar group of old evergreens in winter. The smell of pine thickly wafted around the perimeter. Teal walked toward it, both curious and exhausted. It was the last place he'd look for the night.

Entering the strange cluster of trees, he looked up and saw a few large birds in the treetops, guarding large nests with a few shifting, anxious movements. They did not sound. The young man advanced carefully. Teal swallowed and looked down again at eye level. There was a ninja seal staring straight at him. He stopped, frozen in place, feeling his chakra begin to bind. The genjutsu came around him but it never had a chance to reveal itself for he dissuaded it in an instant.

The forest returned as normal, fading a queer mist. Teal looked around, still feeling the blood pounding in his veins. It was not from fear or surprise of the seal, it was from his own heritage. Consternation wrapped cold arms around his body. He was a Morino. He could not deny it, no matter how hard he could try. Gradually, his pulse returned to normal. He only saw the one seal.

It was red. And the graves were gray.

Everyone here was named Morino.

The tawny green grass was overgrown and dry. Hidden in the center of this small maze, the grass had grown over on the blocks, nearly covering the rock. The young man pushed some of it away—though the gravestone had crumbled, Teal could understand the words:

_Morino Shibame, Morino Korzenei  
__Martyrs for Freedom_

.

.

Teal arrived back in Konoha a week and a half later. He met his elder sister and his mother with hugs and smiles each. "…So _please_ tell me you haven't gone insane," Hoshi said, meeting him alone in the night hours in his room.

Teal smiled.

Hoshi felt goosebumps prick her arms in the chill of the strange humor so typical in the Morino family. "So?"

"You were right," he sighed. "All along."

She sat on his bed while the chill disappeared. "But the only thing was…" he added, "I understand…why dad…didn't want to go back there. He knew what was there. He knew…everything. And he knew how depressing it was," said her brother in a heavy, thoughtful tone. "It really is like a whole different world over there. It's so weird."

"Well…at least he let _go_," said his sister quietly. "And looked for something better."

Teal smiled. "He had to. I get that now...There was no other way. And Konoha…Konoha was the logical choice."

Hoshi straightened suddenly—"You're not going to go back there and stage a coup, right?"

Teal grinned, for the first time in months. "…No," he answered. "All I can do…is try…to move on."

Ten weeks later, he was still a shinobi. But he was a different one now. He was the leader of a small cell, taking ordinary missions in and around the village. Though Hoshi was displeased, it was all he could handle for the moment, and he took one day at a time, still vowing never to set foot in the Intel ward. He was able to pick on his older sister in this new position, whenever he found himself a stone's throw from her unit. She remained single all her life, but Teal did not. When his missions were over, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and stopped at the Academy before going home. To see Ichida Keiko.

The two young people waited a while longer, but they got married.

And began a new family.

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	7. The Birth of Sakumo

_**Dancing On Glass and Other Stories**_

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**A/N:** For space and time reasons, I never wrote the birth of Sakumo. It was always in my head, however, and here it finds it's home. Woo!

**Special Dedication:** To Taylor Hatake. : ) Coushander thanks you, and so do I. : )

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7. The Birth of Sakumo

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He'd just come in to get something from the bedroom. He didn't realize he actually _was_ on the last page of the notebook he kept by the radio, to keep track of the wheat prices. So he was coming up into the kitchen when he saw his wife coming in from the living room, looking vicariously assailed by the most intensely sad, bleak feeling he'd ever scene on a woman's face, let alone his own. In a numb trance, she leaned against the white, nearly frameless wall, oblivious to his presence until he came name her. Then, her whole body convulsed into one long emotional sob, powerful enough to flood minor parts of the dining room if she continued at the rate she was going.

It was the hardest he'd ever seen her cry. Even the times before, her spirit never seemed to shake this badly, nor was her skin quite this cold. With her head hung low, her knees dropped so weak she slid to the floor intentionally, sobbing uncontrollably. He knelt with her, urging her to take refuge in him or on his old blue shirt but Matsuko resisted and barely moved, her eyes glued shut, tears falling on the fabric over her knees and his—"Matty what's wrong?" he asked in vain several times over again and again. "Please, Matty, " he was almost afraid to ask, "Who died?"

She only sobbed harder before it would ever take the time needed to lessen—Coushander tried holding her up, forcing her near him, unsure how else to comfort her. She cried on his robe then; her arms slowly came around him in return, and he let her cry it out, scared to death of the scene. It was almost provoking him to cry even without knowing the reason.

"Matty," he whispered again and again, soothing something so distant in vain. After what seemed like hours of her enveloping tragedy, her sobs gradually relented to hiccups and her reservoir of tears dried out for the moment, leaving her body totally faint and loose to the point where he realized he was holding her weight. Wisely, he said nothing, and instead waited for the worst.

Matsuko tried to lean back on her own, and tentatively, holding her elbows, Coushander let her. But the mixture of terror and anticipation she saw in her husband's eyes made her sob all over again.

"What's wrong—what's happened?" he asked when she stopped again.

Given the honest nature of the furtive situation, she had to shake her head.

"…Nothing," she said, after all the shaking and sobbing.

Nothing.

Shocked, he looked her over as if something else could give way, but she seemed to settle into a sort of forced calm he rarely saw her take—"Nothing, it's nothing," she said again more forcefully.

He wasn't about to let this go.

But she said nothing.

Nothing at all.

.

Finally, being squirreled away in his mind as the strangest, scariest womanly outburst, outflow of emotions he'd ever seen from a woman (let alone his own), over a year went by after that moment with her carrying on as normal. Her natural cheerfulness went unchanged and her patience always steadfast and free from any torture—her touch was still soft and needing. There was nothing wrong between the two of them. There usually was nothing wrong between the two of them. Between his wars with the land by day, by morning and by night, he couldn't complain. Her presence uplifted him, the way she could do just by all those diligent, caring letters she used to send him while he worked this land on his own for years until he finally got up the courage to ask her a question his father once asked his mother. Coushander never regretted asking. Matsuko was everything he needed. She was strength when he had none, and she was comfort when he could find none.

But for the last six weeks now, he finally noticed a little something change in her that he'd never really picked up on before. She looked preoccupied, concerned, even worried sometimes over the predictable, elusive answer of "nothing". The answer smelled familiar. And even though she said this word with a brave little smile, what made it stranger was that she pulled away from him when he tried to comfort her or be close to her. _Nothing, hm?_ He grew tired of it quickly. Coushander stood up one night and Matty turned, "Where are you going…?"

"I'm going to sit outside," he grumbled obstinately, without looking back.

When he walked on seriously, she knew she had to tell him her secret about nothing. It was the only secret she kept—the only one she hid from everybody but Misao, Kosaka's wife. Matsuko's greatest confidant. It was the only one; the only heartbreak she ever had with herself and the world. So Matsuko got up and followed him before Coushander even reached the kitchen—"Kousa…"

He turned around, eager to hear her speak—afraid of the furtiveness he never saw in her eyes before—Coushander cringed, he even flinched, leaning back to brace himself subconsciously from something he figured he wasn't prepared for—unsure of what utter disaster could befall them now in so many years of happy marriage, "I—I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so distant lately, or to upset you," she began hesitantly. "Kousa…I know you'll be furious with me, but I guess—I _know _I can't keep it from you anymore…Please, please forgive me, but…" (here goes) "I'm pregnant. So far," she added, as a cautious afterthought. She hated to jinx herself now. She could never raise her hopes in this situation.

Meanwhile, he began to stare at her very dumbfoundedly. What was that word? "What?" he said, genuinely incomprehensive.

"I…I'm so, sorry," her head came down further and she fought back familiar sobs, "Coushander please forgive, but it happened, so…and I just thought I'd try…one more time."

All he saw were the tears coming to her eyes so he wrapped arms around her until suddenly the meaning of what she was trying to tell him soaked in through his skin—"Wait, you're _what!_" He pulled away, watching her eyes look up. "You—" he remembered what else she said too—"You tried _before?_ When!"

With her head down again, it was beginning to make her dizzy—she couldn't raise her head until he raised it for her, expecting to hear her explain, "I—" she stuttered, "Well the last time…it was…last year—do you remember…You wouldn't remember…" she said quietly, shaking her head slightly.

"How…many…?" he asked her seriously. "…Matty?"

Matty's head went down again—fighting back her sobs.

"Tell me," he said.

"You…don't want to know," she fought him weakly. "I…I'm so sorry."

"_Matty…!_" Coushander nearly fell over himself from the shock as her behaviour, her wild, furtive behavior finally made sense toward her fancy—he was speechless.

She knew his silence was a respite between unspoken amounts of anger and pain. Like the time she found the Kiri diary and made other such mistakes. "Oh please—please don't be angry," she pleaded to him, "I know what this means. And I am so sorry. I—I worked it all out—on paper, I know we could support a child if…Please, try, I—I know I'm being selfish, but this is all I wanted, I wanted to try so badly, I…"

"And die?!" he exclaimed angrily, his eyes flashing now with that pain she knew she'd provoke. "How—" he was about to ask her how she could do this to him, but instead he asked her about the present, "How many weeks are you…?"

"Six, almost seven—I was going to wait until the seventh week to…" her voice extinguished until she found it in his pacing silence—"Oh Coushander please forgive me; please try, I beg you."

She watched his jaw tighten, so many other muscles about him stiffen as if he was turning to stone. A sob and cry escaped her, but she swallowed the next, and instead tears followed one another down her cheeks. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded twice, "S-So far."

Coushander grimaced coldly while his wife hung her head, unable to face him. The man could no longer sigh, no longer think, no longer act without a terror settling into his heart and mind of this terrible stranger inside her, threatening her life. Her very existence. He cursed to himself inside, unable to speak—there was no language, no words that could make this pregnancy disappear. There was also no amount of worry from him that could guarantee her strength through it either, for it did threaten her life, by her mother's genes and so on. Coushander sighed and let go; silence ate up the rest of the night in unanswered apologies.

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By the following week, she was getting sick in the mornings. Soon enough he noticed her taking on more chores when she finished the ones she had. He knew, because even though he hated her decision, and responded coldly to her for the moment, he kept an eye on her the best way he could, calling for her name in the house just to hear her answer back, and when she didn't, he looked east and saw her near Zosha's paddock, stroking the big gray gelding as she always did. Coushander told her to go back inside the house whenever he saw dark clouds in the sky, as if the air might strike her dead. Matty rolled her eyes, and went inside…eventually.

Two, three, four crazy, precarious months, then she miraculously made it to five. He walked in the house in January one mid-morning, suddenly smelling apple pie cooling on the counter. "What in the_ heck_…are you _doing?"_ He saw her come from the hallway, and she looked up apprehensively, "…Do you need something?"

His large, angry eyes couldn't take any more. Consternation exerted itself in a loud huff. He turned around in haste and briskly walked out the back door again, but despite his rage, he couldn't bring himself to wander away. Instead, he sat down on the bench, cursing aloud, stringing a few of those words together upon himself and life in general, thinking of the terror he would experience if all of this ended badly. There was more worry, more continual anxiety in his heart now than at any other time he could remember. The stress, like a hand, began squeezing around his heart. The sound of the screen door opening made him jump and rise; half her body peered at him shamefully again. "Don't look at me like that," the man scowled.

"But…oh please," she said. "Coushander…I…"

Coushander interrupted her with another audible sigh that was doing no good to settle his nerves. "Sometimes I think _I'm_ more concerned about _you_ than you are," Carrying the weight of her child she wanted so badly, he convinced himself it was assassinating her as he spoke. He could not look at her stomach anymore without pain. Coushander bit back the tears he'd cry if he lost her forever. His throat held no more voice. His silence was both his defiance, and his weakness.

Matsuko walked slowly, and sat on the bench, wanting to cry too at his face he hid not by fabric today, but by a turn of his head. "…This is your child too," she said timidly, "I wanted to give you a child. I wanted…you to be a father."

"I don't—I didn't want a damn thing," he said clearly, glancing at her knees and feet, "All I wanted was _you_, and that's never changed."

"You have me."

"No, No I don't…now please, go sit down, _inside_. Haven't you done enough for today?"

Feeling relatively fine, her eyes narrowed a little defensively.

Coushander glared at her. "Don't…don't look at me like that, Matty. For God's sake, please, you _can't_ work this much. Even the doctor says so. God only knows what all you do while I'm out here all damn day."

"I cook and clean. That's all. Then I rest. Then I cook again."

"Yeah, well, _I'm_ about to start doing _all_ the cooking, so there," he folded his arms defiantly.

Matty smiled, a little, at the thought of him in the kitchen.

Coushander rolled his eyes, and stood. He held the screen door open for her. "Go," he said. "It looks like rain."

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She had one false alarm. She went into labor, but luckily the child listened to her, or the doctors, or his spiteful father when they each told it to please, "stay inside!" Brought home in Coushander's wagon before nightfall, his woman was falling asleep. But her head, falling gently on his shoulder was like an arrow of anxiety spearing all his senses and he pulled the reins, scaring Zosha as well. The horse's front hooves lifted a bit and Matty awoke at the jolt, "Kousa…?"

"Sorry…" he said, getting used to the feeling of her head landing on his shoulder again. "Just…thinking."

"…Oh."

The woman closed her eyes again and Coushander flipped the reins, clicking his tongue as if the whole thing had been the horse's fault. He glanced at her again, wearing a shawl over her shoulders, but all he could really notice was that awful bump on her stomach, growing everyday. Cringing, he looked away, down the road.

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Come the start of February, she was counting, blessing everyday the baby stayed inside her. If she could make it March, seven months, they might have a chance. Living close to her calendar in their bedroom, she was bored most of the day, and she was also very bored of the soup Coushander continued fixing. The man knew she was sick of it, but he continued telling her, "I fixed it _differently_ this time," and it became a dumb game as to what he added (or detracted). "What's for dinner?" she asked him, hoping she could somehow craftily suggest her services.

"Um…something," he said. "A surprise."

"Are you really sure you want to surprise me? Why don't I surprise you. Please, let me do it."

A resounding, "No." filled the room.

Matsuko groaned when he left.

On the morning of the ninth day, she woke up after feeling the child kick her most of the night—he moved, he turned, and feeling totally sick to her stomach, she spent extra time getting dressed for the day. However, she had many mornings such as these. Her husband went out very early as usual after his self-made breakfast of nothing and then suddenly, she felt normal again for a little while.

But by ten-thirty, the contractions came, and she doubted now she had the strength to call for her husband. Feeling sicker to her stomach than she ever had in her life—praying for another false alarm, she left him a note in case she couldn't spot him in the rear fields. She hastened down the road south, looking for him along their fence, but predictably, she was unable to see anything.

He saw the note, some ten minutes later. Coushander's heart pounded furiously as he hounded out the door, trying to decide in haste either to get Zosha or run after her. He chose to run like hell. It was the easiest decision he ever made.

Finding her along the path, adrenaline allowed him to pick her up in his arms, and get her to the hospital in Kujira.

Just in time.

Coushander bent over with his hands on his haunches, and watched his wife be wheel-chaired away, following a colored line on the wall. But all the colors looked jumbled to him, so he stumbled after her, unwilling to give her up to the doctors and nurses completely. He stumbled, catching up through a dizzy zig-zag of directions and colors on the painted brick.

But damn that baby, almost as soon as she entered the room the contractions ceased until four o'clock, and then six…when the real thing happened.

She seemed to know, seemed to sense it was coming even though she didn't want it right then, but it was coming anyway. He held her hand after a long day about to get even longer; the child was coming, ready or not. "…Breathe, Matty," he whispered, repeating what the nurse beside her had said but he doubted she heard him until the moment she looked as if she didn't want to push anymore—she looked at him, and he at her, as if she was still trying to say she was sorry for the whole thing. Suddenly, Coushander's skin, his fingers turned to ice in hers, "It's ok, _I'm_ sorry," he said finally. "I forgive you—forgive _me_, I'm sorry, please; just push."

Then she winced in pain. Coushander barely glanced at what ugly thing came out of her once her howls in pain were finally over, leaving him slightly deaf. He kept his eyes on Matsuko, whose eyes were staying closed—if she had opened them he may have missed it—her form stilled like calming water after the ripples dispersed—a nurse brushed by him, but he kept his eyes on his wife, lying there, still as death.

"Sir—could you step outside?" said the doctor, one of them anyway.

Coushander glanced at him—then toward his wife, suddenly frightened then spooked but he soon realized…he was in the way. "Sir, please, outside for a moment," the young man said.

Eventually, he let go, and moved away. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do.

The door shut behind him with an ugly '_click_' sound. Coushander reached his hand over the door, and then the hand clenched to a useless fist, sinking slowly beneath the tears overflowing in his eyes now over the pain, the horrid pain of losing her. "Matty," Coushander choked. His head turned from the door lethargically, then turned back, where his forehead fell to the solid surface and he began to cry.

Gradually, his entire body turned. There was a window, at the end of this hallway, facing east. He moved toward a chair but instead of sitting, he collapsed beside it on bended knee, fighting this tide of loss that could sink him under any moment. He cried over his blue field clothes, underneath the wheat and the farm, and everything they had created. The thought of losing her in there drove him mad. The thought of her, dead, provoked something in him he did not want to remember. It was something dark from his past he continued to suppress. Continued to ignore. And when he opened his eyes, clearing away the tears on his face with the left cuff of his old sleeve, he saw the scars on his left hand. And for a scary lucid moment, he did not know where they came from. He did not _want_ to know where they came from. In an ugly panic of these ugly discolored things that nearly crippled his hand and arm in total, he remembered…the drama of the old accident with the scythe. Yes. It had been the scythe. The scythe, and nothing else.

_Matsuko…_

Coushander continued to weep, twitch, and move restlessly or sometimes not at all, then move on again impatiently. As far as he knew, this was the longest moment he ever had to endure. An hour went by without a word on his wife, without an open of that door. Then, a half hour more. Coushander jumped from a hard seat on the floor when it finally opened—it was a woman, and she smiled a little, and allowed him to enter.

Distrusting this tentative smile, he walked in slowly, but found his wife resting—sleeping—or still sedated, one of the three. Her eyes were closed; her body was still. He could hear beeping now: she was connected to a heart monitor. She was still _alive_. Coushander walked to the spot he once occupied and held her cold hand with his own of ice, and cursed the fragility of life.

He soon began to cry.

Coushander continued watching her intently. Wiping his eyes, now and then, he smiled and then cried some more. For a long time he said nothing, thought nothing, did nothing, and like anything that ever brought him any small piece of comfort, her presence, no matter how faint, brought him just that.

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She rested, sound and still. He was unsure if she would really pull through and he also had no idea…if his son had lived for more than an hour yet inside the incubator. This time, Coushander bit back his tears, and tried holding back all that terror he knew was creeping behind him like a shadow. "I'm right here," he said softly. "Matty, please," he spoke finally, "I _need_ you. I need you so much," he said. "Please Matty," he begged. "Please don't…"

Nurses—the doctors came in and out periodically from then on. The next time he was alone, Coushander laid his head near his wife's shoulder and tried to hear the beeping—the gentle beating himself in her veins. Hours passed by, in and out of a dazed sleep near his girl until he heard the doctor come near. Coushander lifted his head slightly. The man wore a faint smile on his face a little in the same way the nurse had shown—"Your son, is alive, and stable, for right now," he informed.

Coushander looked at him blankly for a moment until he realized the man was really talking about the thing that had come out of her—the boy?

"You may see him, in the other room here," the man pointed readily.

But Coushander wasn't about leave Matty's side.

The doctor left soon, leaving Coushander with Matsuko. He stroked her brown bangs, unaware of how late the hour was, forgetting all about hunger and nightfall, his fields and even Zosha and the radio. Kousa forgot about Kosaka and the bills in the mail waiting somewhere in this town for the Hatake name. He was continually fixated on his wife, who had wanted to give him that unnecessary child in the first place…Her and her silly dream…

Coushander looked at the glass of the room nearby when his mind wandered at last, as if it had been a sleepy vagabond, ready now to walk in the night. There was movement through that wide window on the wall near a door. Someone, it seemed, was monitoring that baby for her. Someone was watching it in the incubator. Someone was talking to the child. But still, Coushander wasn't sure what to do—how to act; how to care. Coushander didn't want it to all be for naught—Matsuko's heart would break and then where would he be…but there was no honest way he could ever love or afford that child, not in the long run, and not now. No, Coushander hadn't done the same math, because it seemed to him they never had much money to spend on anything.

He sighed to himself, hearing the continual beep noise for some background support or failure. His lady was still there, somewhere. "Matty," he said, "I'm still right here. I'll never leave you. God—please rest and wake up. I beg you, please…"

After a moment, spent looking guiltily at that indoor window, Coushander stood up, hearing his bones and muscles stretching in their peculiar way—not only was he broke, he was old, too, almost forty. Too old to be a father now. And Matty, too, only two years behind him.

Coushander moved away very slowly, watching her superstitiously. He wondered…He wondered what the child looked like. He wondered too, how slim were it's chances to survive…He took a few steps back, making sure Matty wouldn't go anywhere on his watch, or lack thereof. His heart skipped as he turned when he reached the door. Against his will, he opened it, and looked inside.

"Oh, hello," said a blonde-haired woman in a soft voice, wearing an all white coat.

Coushander looked behind him carefully before he really noticed the small thing far away in a strange, clear box.

"…Would you like to see you son?" she asked, seeing the indecision and blankness on his face, "He's right here."

He swallowed, hard, seeing Matty still resting through the windows as he came closer.

"He's so small," the woman admired with a smile.

The man walked slowly, seeing this magnificent case hold all that pain Matsuko underwent. So this…was the child…:

Not quite twelve inches, this pinkish thing was in fact a baby—a miniature child, almost odd-looking in the way his head was bigger than most of his body. He was a boy, and he was extraordinarily tiny, as she had said. Wrapped in a blanket with a little hat on the child's head, Coushander's mouth was open for a full minute, his eyes growing wide with wonder over this miniscule thing. Every feature, every limb was still smaller than the tail on a cattail reed—his fingers and toes, smaller than the smallest of buttons on Matty's summertime blouses—the child's eyes were closed in thin black lines, and tubes, Coushander noticed, were in those small arms of growing skin and bone. The tubes also ran across the child's face small face. He was perfect, and extraordinary. Six months and _that_ was what had been in there all this time; Coushander was overcome with such incredible surprise. How small was this boy, how utterly small and fragile like his mother was now—like she always was. But there was one feature that would make this boy inherently Hatake: the boy's hair, he had a little of it from what Coushander could see, and it was silver.

Silver hair, just like his own. Just like…

"…Beautiful, isn't he?" the nurse said softly.

Beautiful didn't even begin to describe him! The child was a _masterpiece!_ Coushander continued leaning over this case, seeing every little curve in the enclosed warm climate. Every detail, Coushander blinked again to see and to remember, and to cherish. Suddenly, he wanted this boy. Suddenly, he was necessary to his father and mother's world and their joy. Suddenly if this little boy perished, a part of his father would perish with him. Suddenly this boy was Coushander's only son. Suddenly this boy deserved a nursery, deserved Matty; deserved to live.

Emotion overcame Kousa—standing there now with a few tears in his eyes over this small innocence who never meant to harm anybody. And suddenly, Coushander realized he had absolutely no control over this boy's survival.

"Will…he live…?" he worked the courage to ask.

"Well," the nurse answered him tentatively, "He's certainly the earliest preemie we've ever seen here. It all depends."

"You mean…if he's strong?" Coushander trailed, seeing his son's lip twitch and move. The father smiled.

"We'll be with him every hour. Keeping the temperature steady, making sure he doesn't catch any infections. In the meantime, I'm sure he'd love to hear your voice."

She didn't answer his question truthfully, in the same way no one had told him about his wife. Grimly, he could guess the horrible odds. Pushing all that down for a brief moment, Coushander sighed, expelling finally all that oxygen rushing to his heavy head. "Little boy," he murmured. "Good God you're tiny," he smiled in awe. "You'd fit in a bread box with room to spare…" Coushander knelt again, almost eye level with the tiny child, "Please…live," he wished. "Matty wants you to. And…so do I…" Coushander tried to ignore the nurse's presence when he put a finger to the glass. "Please live," he said again. "Please. It'd mean so much."

Coushander found he was extremely unwilling to leave the boy. But he had to see his wife again, too, in case she'd wake up without him…

"Oh Matty," he smiled emotionally with a feeling he'd never known before, "Wake up. He's perfect. He's so perfect," Kousa whispered. "I want him. Very much. And I need you. Please…wake up. You were right," Coushander told her, stroking the hair above her shoulder. "You were right—I _do_ want him. He's beautiful Matty. Thank you. Thank you for not giving up, but—please, don't give up ever again, I need you right now sweetheart," He kissed her hand. "I need you so much. Please wake up in the morning…I'll be here. You won't be rid of me," he promised. "Not now or ever."

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Coushander had an early morning—waking up naturally at five-thirty. He saw this on the clock behind him and groaned, inwardly. He looked over at his wife while holding his neck. She was still there, still asleep, but he saw she'd moved—nearer, or farer, she must have moved in or out of her sleep. For the first time in ages, he felt joy come back to his heart. Still waking up himself, he caressed her hand, anxious to see her awake and recovering from this physical exhaustion. "Oh Matty…" he gazed at her restlessly, "Matty…"

After a while, Coushander tried to lay his head back down by her arm and sleep, but he couldn't do it, not on work days or off days, there were too many things that would occupy his mind…such as…_feed Zosha!_ Coushander panicked with the sudden thought. He bolted upright, rousing himself and cursing internally. "Zosha…!" he said in a whisper. The big gray gelding would not be happy without his morning feed. In fact, Zosha might even be panicked without contact last night… Oh, and the mail, the bills, the radio, and breakfast! A flood of the usual chores woke him up for good in his busy mind. "Damn," he whispered to himself. There was nothing he could do about it just now. He had to be with Matty…And the boy…

She awoke an hour later, looking over at him, knowing he was there beside her from all the worried mumbles she remembered during the night. After an emotional embrace, she asked him, "What happened?" with tears stinging her soft brown eyes.

"Oh he's beautiful Matty," her husband said. "He's alive," Coushander glanced at the window, "And he's so beautiful. You should see him."

Matsuko was confused by his enthusiasm. She began to sob herself, while he smiled wearily at her over strung emotion, "Don't cry," he said. "Please don't cry anymore sweetheart."

Her heart pined for that tiny child, and she cried over Coushander's faux excitement—"Oh Kousa," she said, "I'm so,_ so_ sorry." She was one breath away from calling the whole thing a grievous mistake on her part until he smiled warmly, "For the last time, don't be. You won't say that anymore Matsuko. You did nothing wrong. _I_ was the idiot. You were right," he said again. "As you always are. I love him. He's my son—our son. He's beautiful."

"…He's…he's alive?" she said, "You…"

"Yes, yes I saw! He's wonderful. So _small!"_

She was still confused as to why her husband was smiling as he was. Matty rarely saw that kind of smile on him before. It permeated him, like a glow, covering for brief moments those old dark stains on his memory of his previous life and the death of his older brother. "What…happened…?" she asked again, slightly confused.

Coushander grinned with glossy eyes—"You're all right. We're all right. And I love you, Matsuko."

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She saw the child, and cried for twenty minutes straight. Her mother came soon with Kosaka's help; Mrs Kosaka came, and the time came when Coushander knew he had to see his horse (by Kosaka and his wife Misao's account, Zosha was plucking grass very skittishly), and see what had grown or died in the fields. "Go," Matsuko smiled, surrounded by people now who cared for her. She had said it a few times already, and still he was making excuses. "_Go_," she smiled again. "You've been here long enough."

Reluctantly, Coushander went and life resumed tediously for five hours or so. The call of work, the call of bills was ordinary enough, but the call of Zosha's nicker greeted him the best. "Where did you go?" The horse seemed to ask curiously as he inhaled the familiar scent of his master.

"Sorry boy…we've got a _new_ boy," Coushander explained. "Not that we're going to replace you…The new boy…may not come home…for a while," Kousa trailed quietly. "And if he does, it'll be ten years before he could ever really pose a threat to you…" Coushander smiled. "Matty will come home soon though…She misses you. I did too...I just didn't want to leave her."

The horse seemed to adapt to this new situation, knowing his master would return soon.

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Coushander stroked his wife's copper brown hair while she cried over the name he thought of while looking at the winter wheat, standing low in his fields. Even though his life was fragile, even though he may not survive—"He needs a name. Come on, I bet you had dozens picked out since you were nine. What did you want?"

Matsuko began to smile through a happy waterfall of tears, "Oh yours sounds just fine."

"Really?"

"Really."

"…Sakumo it is. My dearest _Sakumotsu_…"

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Matty cried even harder, leaving the child in the building without his parents there. A fountain of steady tears overflowed and even Coushander smiled through it with a tight jaw and a closed throat in tears of his own. Any day could go by, and the child, the boy might slip away from them in the night. Stuck in the house again, the lack of fresh air and distraction made the longings worse for Matsuko.

"But women always worry about every little thing…" answered Kosaka to his friend one night outside the area farmer's meeting house late Thursday night.

"Well I don't blame her," Coushander admitted. "I hate to imagine how hard she's crying now, alone in the house…"

Kosaka regarded the night and the situation for a while. "You both have been through a lot," he commented without envy.

Coushander made a rumble of noise in agreement quietly, and with a smile, forced the emotion back down once more.

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"Kosaka still wouldn't give me his brown mare. I gave him a good offer." he said in answer to her question as to why he came home in a better mood. "…What did you offer?" she asked curiously from bed.

"Fifty pounds of rhubarb and that oak sapling behind the apple tree."

Matty smiled finally. She shook her head, but she smiled. She was about to ask him why he didn't begin looking for a brown mare, but she was reminded of the chilling fact they really didn't have much money right now. Fifty pounds of rhubarb and an oak sapling was pretty much what all they could spare at the moment.

"What's wrong?" he said, seeing her smile quick to fizzle.

"Oh—nothing."

"Did you want to see him yet tonight?"

"No, no…maybe tomorrow. At noon, again."

"All right," he nodded, finally getting into bed. "…What's the matter?" he asked again when he felt her spirit continue to wane. She was hanging her head again.

"Oh—nothing…"

"Oh—I forgot to shut the light off—are you done?"

"Yes."

Coushander got up and flipped off the light.

"Goodnight…" she said despondently.

"Well hold on!" he said, and flipped the light back on. Putting a hand on her shoulder, "What's wrong?"

"Oh everything!" she exclaimed right back at him, turning to face him with tears ready in her eyes—ready to overflow. Coushander smiled at her, which caused his wife to want to turn over, but he stopped her just as she conceded. "…Like what," he said patiently, knowing the source of her woe. " What's gone wrong now?" he smiled.

Her eyes lowered, unable to argue with him. He pulled her chin up as it had begun to lower. The strength of his girl had declined so much lately—but what almost amused him was her sense of doubt. "You did the right thing. Stop questioning it, and never, _ever_ get pregnant again," They both shared a small smile. "I was a fool not to think a child would be the greatest gift you've ever given me—next to your hand when we were wed. Matty you've always been right, about everything," Coushander said, "And I know it's out of your control now, but it's out of mine too. I'm terrified too. You've always been so strong. Don't start doubting now. Please don't give up hope. I want this as much as you do, that's the truth. Whatever must happen, will happen."

As soon as he finished, the sob inside her curled her face but she held it in, "Oh Kousa," she folded her arms all around him, as far as she could reach, and laid her head on his chest while a few tears escaped her brown eyes, crying over the undecided fate.

He kissed her forehead, running a hand through her hair, consoling her as best he knew how, letting her cry and be close to him again while he thought of his little Sakumo. "Goodnight, Matty," he said quietly.

"Goodnight, Kousa…You…can shut the light off now."

"Sure?"

She smiled. She nodded.

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The child. Survived.

Hatake Sakumo. Born of Hatake Coushander and Hatake (Mihure) Matsuko.

A child loved.

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	8. Flight

_**Dancing On Glass and Other Stories**_

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**A/N:** Consider this a genuine fanfic within my fanfic. (Author disappears with embarrassment beneath her computer desk…)

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8. Flight

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Nora sighed—she was far from home.

The young woman closed her eyes—trying to forget for a blissful moment who she was and even what she was and where. Could there be any other feeling of midnight than this?

She was reminded by those nights she worked at the hospital; not one offered more surprise and variety than working at a med station out in the middle of nowhere. Nora was grateful to Kano Hoseki for recommending her to the position, but still, Nora felt a little blue.

She was thinking of Sakumo again.

And how she thought she loved him.

He had been a widower, of course, when she met him in the hospital.

Now, he was dead.

Nora cried.

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One day, in this brave new world where she worked, another surprise visit came in the door, requiring immediate medical attention. They always did. Nora rendered it, thanking Kano once again. At least her skills and stomach had improved, looking through the bloodied, beaten mess of limbs and injuries. The chuunin captain ushered in the last of his four just after midnight; "Ukenin," explained the captain in a term simpler than any sentence.

"How many?" asked a doctor conversationally.

"Enough," the captain smiled quickly, in a simple manner. Nora glanced behind her while she applied the chakra to the wound of the first man. The captain looked like a young man, and by that, she thought he looked incredibly young for a man perhaps in his forties. She was not much younger than that and believed full well her youth had vanished quickly. The captain sat there quietly, refusing to be treated until each of his own men had. The action, an altruistic one, reminded her again of Hatake Sakumo.

Just before she left the first man to try and tend to his captain, the man blinked his eyes open, looking at her fuzzily. Nora hesitated. They often had things they wanted to try and say, like, "…my wife," or "my kids," or, "my captain". His words were about the latter as he smiled, "Careful…he jumps," the man whispered, and then fell asleep.

Nora blinked. Disregarding the warning, she walked up to the commanding officer, and when she tried to begin the healing process, he jumped.

"Oh, um, sorry I didn't mean to startle you but…"

"Oh I am so sorry, I didn't mean to jump, I just had one left in me and…"

They both shared an odd smile. He allowed the woman to speak. "Your arm is bleeding," she said pointedly.

"Yes, well…"

She offered her chakra again and this time, he stayed still.

"So what happened?" asked one of the other doctors present, still healing a man. Rinsano, the captain, spoke. The explanation was given as this, "The leader…oh dear, I've forgotten his lengthy introduction…" Nora smiled a little as he talked while she applied chakra, medicine, and bandages. "…He began with an earth jutsu. I know that for sure. It was a special technique, involving flying daggers…I didn't jump quite high enough," he chuckled heartily as if the fight had simply occurred on a Konohagakure playground. "My second jumped though…and the battle…the battle was long, and fierce…" He was effervescent, charming, shy, but very cheerful.

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Come morning, their captain was the only one to worsen, rather improve. Nora had sterilized each of his wounds and sealed the bleeding, but the infection had been present since before the battle. Fever confined him to bed, which he did not like. He mumbled and grumbled, tossing his thin, short frame around in the sheets and twitching his fingers in agony while the rest of his group rested comfortably in other rooms.

Finally on the third morning, the fever began to recede. "Thank God." he grumbled wearily, feeling a little better too. Nora smiled. She was with him, alone, helping him with something to eat. "You have a very strong constitution," she said.

"T-thanks miss," he smiled. He looked at her for a moment longer before he said, "You know…you remind me a lot of my aunt—I mean, you look like her, really you do. The same color hair. You're…you're very pretty, miss. I like hair color like that."

It was one of the few times in her life she was ever paid a compliment. She liked to think the first had been Sakumo-san. The woman blushed, turning her head, feeling her long auburn-orange tail of hair drag on her shirt. "Um—thank you."

He nodded, smiling. The captain looked up at the ceiling and then he sighed. "I miss my aunt. But…I know she must be in a better place. She rests now—she does. I really miss her."

"It's terrible to lose someone you care for," Nora murmured assent. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. It's funny…I still think about her almost everyday—my old captain too…" he added softly, "He was a real great man…though nobody speaks his name now."

Nora looked up at him. The man stirred the bowl beneath him and drew a spoonful to his lips slowly. "No one…speaks his name?" she inquired gently.

"No," Rinsano shook his head sadly. "It's too bad. He taught so many of us. Not just me. His tricks…his gambits and tactics are still employed because they work. He was so brilliant and powerful. But really…I remember his strength and humility. I try and emulate them," the young looking man smiled. "I don't always do a good job, but I'd like to think I'm making him proud. Being with him…you knew you could make it through. Even in the darkest of places…and in the deepest of nights."

Rinsano's heartfelt portrait of his old captain gave Nora all the clues she needed. She smiled, her eyes tearing over. "I think I know…the man you mean. I mean…I knew him just for a little while, when I still worked at the hospital. I…loved him too."

"Y-You knew him, miss?"

"Yes," she nodded, smiling tearfully.

They were silent for a moment until she said, "Thank you. Thank you for reminding me. And thank you…for remembering."

Rinsano smiled, and then frowned. "…It makes my gut swirl, just thinking about what happened."

"I know—I feel the same."

Rinsano looked at her. He smiled faintly, after a while. As did she. "Thanks…" he murmured.

The following day, Rinsano doing better still, Nora spent time with him. Being near him was like sharing a room with joy. Permeating her cold, sheltered soul, it replaced a dead feeling she had carried with her for a long, long time. Nora's smiles resurrected as he grinned at her shyly. She giggled lightly at his boyish inflections, telling stories of his travels so far. His life was an open book, told through gestures, winks, smiles, and easy laughter.

The time came soon when he had to leave. And though the courting had been incredibly short, he was bold and brave enough to ask her a question, alone in the room early one morning, after midnight blue transformed into a beautiful, bright blue dawn.

"Can I…see you again?"

She answered yes.

Birds flew up as they left, and the woman could feel her soul flying with them, warm and happy.

High, and into the blue.

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	9. Women Love Pretty Verses

_**Dancing On Glass and Other Stories**_

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**A/N:** This is the sappiest thing I have ever written…(just warning you…) I was going to re-write it, but…there's just something about poetry, boys…

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9. Women Love Pretty Verses

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He cleared his throat, standing in front of her and their two best friends; "And now, I want to surprise you, my dear, with a poem I wrote by myself…" Coushander stomped his foot not so hap-hazardly underneath the table, "—and Coushander helped a little…" Kosaka smiled nervously, "To celebrate our anniversary."

Misao smiled suddenly in awe.

"To Misao," Kosaka read, beginning with a nervous twitch,

"My dearest love—my only love, and true—

"I would be a very sad farmer without you."

The first two lines were of course crucial—Kosaka executed them well; Misao was utterly captivated. Even Matsuko glanced over at Coushander, smiling dreamily.

"Children have come, friends too, and the seasons each.

"And through these times, it is still your hand for I reach."

(Loving exchange of glances from the couple—Coushander rolled his eyes but soon found his own wife busy staring at him in the same adoring manner. Coushander looked away as Kosaka quickly continued.)

"The days have been long, and of a hardworking sort,

"But I always knew you were the one I wanted to court."

(Coushander raised his head like a proud rooster. Matsuko noticed and rolled her eyes at him but he simply smiled as if to say, yes, he was that clever. Meanwhile, Misao was transfixed by the words, mostly unaware of anyone else in the room beyond her and her husband.)

Kosaka gathered himself for the end—

"Please stay by me, my love, I need you still,

"For how large a love can grow, only ours will tell."

Applause.

Misao stood, tackling her husband with hidden tears and arms in a warm, tight hug. Kosaka soon winked at Coushander and his friend winked back. Job well done.

(But Matsuko was still staring at Coushander with the same doe-eyed expression. Coushander averted his gaze embarrassingly.)

"Shintaro! Thank you!" Misao said, as they finally pulled away slightly.

"Let's have some cake," said Coushander.

No one listened however as Matsuko applauded further, "What a wonderful, sweet little thing!" she smiled while Misao beamed, "Indeed! Oh—I love you, sweetheart!"

"And I you," Kosaka flourished with a handsome smile.

Misao suddenly remembered the table setting, "Oh, I hope the cake is half as good!"

"It wasn't that magical…" Coushander muttered lowly—Matty discreetly stepped on her husband's foot to defend the honor of the words, which were easily a mirror of their own love. So Kousa kept the other words to himself, smiled over his chagrin, and instead uttered, "It looks wonderful!"

Matty smiled.

Kosaka and Misao sat down.

Glasses raised.

And there was a cheerful sound.

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	10. Dancing On Glass

_**Dancing On Glass and Other Stories**_

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**Lengthy A/N:** I love you Harou. I wish you would have gotten help. Please do, if you feel like Harou. Talking to a therapist is a wonderful start. I struggle with depression daily, and as far as romance goes, my story is like Harou…except…I highly doubt I'll find Mr Right, and I'm just fine with that. There are some people in this world who don't, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

**Thanks** Mr Doug Stone for the song inspiration in the first place. P.S…I'm sure this will read as a dribble, but I hope there's something in it that's good. I think this was the only piece that endured a massive re-write.

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10. Dancing On Glass

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He always _knew_ he'd be alone.

He had no interest in women. He had no interest in men, either. So he always accepted the solitary existence without a second thought, even at a young age. It was just another unique mark chiseled on his stone, setting him apart from his compatriots. Harou did not mind. Harou did many things they did not—he never drank, he never haunted bars; he never spent time thinking of the future. Because, being suicidal all his life at least taught him never to count on tomorrow. There might not be one.

Harou walked. He walked in the present. Completing missions. Following orders. Mourning Monkey. Mourning Karada. Harou's past walked with him—he never considered himself _truly_ alone, not when you have ghosts haunting your head, whispering reasons and repeating old conversations. But as far as physical companionship, well…Harou enjoyed the solitude. Healways _knew_ he would be alone.

And for forty-five years, he was.

Then one strange day, towards the close of the second war, he met_ her_.

And for the days afterwards, Harou was seldom able to get _her_ out of his mind.

Perhaps it was because she reminded him…of Monkey.

For people like Saru-Shin were always quick to point you in the opposite direction after traveling in one mood for such a long time. Often, they began walking beside you. Never leaving you alone. Never wanting anything but a smile and a story. Harou jogged. She would follow. Harou would negate. She would reflect. Harou could close his mind. She could enter inside of it. Harou could disclose. She could listen.

Harou Nekai didn't know what to do.

He didn't consider himself socially qualified to handle all this, but as the story goes, the story_ goes_.

And it often felt as if…he were dancing on glass.

He was extraordinarily careful, at all times. For sometimes, her moods were uneven. And sometimes, he was silent on end. Sometimes, when he looked up, her eyes were the most brilliant shade of sky blue he'd ever seen. She commanded the presence of a woman, and the feel of one. She had been married before, but had her heart broken. But she picked herself up and walked on, as he knew so well to do. And now, she was standing before him, knowing, grinning at the feeling she felt when she was near him. It was a truer sort of emotion. One she knew could bind them all the way into the next life, and sustain them forevermore. Meanwhile, his self-control continued reveling in his past, like a curtain, closed, in troubling shades of green.

He could see it all below, murky and dark, and something like a future, above, shrouded in light and mottled sunshine. Careful not to step too hard, she guided him across the strange, smooth surface delicately, lightly, until he stopped, looking down at everything he was, and all he thought he ever would be. The small _tap_ sound faded in his hears and the familiar hum of silence shrouded her figure as he watched the scene below, looking for cracks to appear like flashes of lightning and thunder to give way. The woman held his hands, looking at him. The woman, Arisu, smiled.

_"So you say you'll never marry…" _Young Nekai stiffened his neck, raising his chin indignantly. _"But you would do it too, even for love," _Monkey had said, wisely.

"Love…"

Hate.

"Harou?"

Monkey.

The scene melted back at once to the grey and dirty pavement underneath the arbor of the restaurant. Harou's feet still felt light but balanced, as he breathed in the sharp, brisk air of the evening. Under a canopy of so many trees, the air often felt the same color as the indigo sky above. Cold. Stars twinkled through the dark canopy, lighting the wood and their clothes, shining on the icy metal of the table and chairs they had just vacated.

"Harou? she said again.

Karada.

Then after another wandering moment staring at the cement, he broke from her warm, gentle grasp and turned.

He was a runaway, by nature. It explained his shinobi work as a currier. "Harou?"

_"Harou…will you not look at me today?" _Karada folded his arms under a small and simple smile.

Harou maintained his sullen stare upon the ground. The woman stepped forward, flashing the glass, but it did not break. There was no lightning in this realm, no subsequent sound of thunder. She had learned it's testing points at far earlier an age. The woman made him turn again. Harou glanced at her smiling face, swift and clear. He could fall through at any given moment. "…This may not end well," he would say.

But she smiled comfortably with the knowledge, standing on their plane easily, carefully. "I know."

"But I_ don't_. Do you _know_ who I _am?"_

"Yes, I think I do," she smiled. "As you have so endeavored to tell me."

Harou stared.

The woman smiled back. "And so what. You know who I am by now. Harou…Look up at the stars. Each one is different…Harou…please…please look at me."

If only he could see through this damned mist.

She touched his hand.

He could see her, at least.

He could feel her, at least.

And she smiled.

There was a beautiful, grand portrait behind him, like an open window. One showing water, and trees; kindness, love, and hope. It was a wide stretch, with several points of interest, in every infinite possibility. She could touch one tree and find a story, a tree house of thought and laughter. The dark places sealed his past, and the light showed him smiling with a child and all their happy tomorrows. And then she saw the hazel glaze in his charming eyes on his handsome face and she smiled. "I love you." It summed up the canvas, and all the tomorrows.

Harou glanced about nervously at the public scene, but there was no one around. Cicadas with their shrill cries rolled on one after another, hiding high in the trees over the pavement and the lawn. "I…love you, as well," he reciprocated. It was a very large admission. One he felt strange uttering, and one he did not wish to say. Yet it was true. He could feel it buried beneath all this evasion and confusion. Fluttering and warm. Both high and grounded. And for a brief moment, he considered the future before dropping his eyes back down to the past. Suddenly her grip in his steadied his center from floating and falling through. This plane they inhabited was truly a precarious one, if anything…

Then all of a sudden, Harou smiled. It was like a flash of lightning:

How foolish.

How stupid.

How crazy.

How sane.

"…I should go now."

She nodded slowly. "Till next time?"

After a moment, he nodded.

"Good."

Great.

Grand.

It happened so fast.

And when he was forty-six, he married her.

And perhaps, it was all right, as she had said. Every story's different, and writes out different, in the end.

So how lovely, at last.

And how glad.

To be

Dancing,

On glass…

.

.

.

.

by Kariko Emma, _Caliko_


End file.
